Bob Dean's

1952-1953
Introductory Notes

As the 50th anniversary of my short Army career arrives I catch myself checking out the Korean War on the Internet--looking for a little history, wondering what happened to the units I served with, and searching for familiar names of people with whom I served.

While much of this surfing has come to naught, I've made two discoveries:

--1. There's very little information available about the "last year" of the Korean conflict: the period from July 1952 to July 1953, as it all slowed to a standstill; and

--2. There are a lot of people out there who are searching for information about their fathers and grandfathers who "served in Korea." All too often, it appears, the old soldiers grow old and die, without documenting or even discussing their military service.

And that is what prompted this work. I'm going to write down a few paragraphs about each of my months in Korea in 1952 and 1953 and I'm going to make it available on the Internet and in my family archives. My experiences weren't particularly dramatic and I certainly didn't influence the grand plan for the War. But they're probably very similar to the experiences of others who served during the same period. They're interesting to me and perhaps to others.

I may have failed here and there to faithfully reconstruct the chronology of events. But, unlike so many recent military historians, I haven't fudged any of the facts; every anecdote in this narrative is a true story.  The reader looking for danger and heroism will be seriously disappointed. I wasn't.

THE YEAR BEFORE

I spent the second half of 1951 and the first half of 1952 preparing for the "War Year" as a 2d Lieutenant platoon leader in an Artillery Basic Training Unit at Camp Chaffee, Arkansas and in three months at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, enjoying the Basic Artillery Officers' Training Course curriculum with several friends. In Camp Chaffee we learned how to march trainees around the post and conduct Physical Training exercises in a loud, clear voice. At Fort Sill we learned how be Forward Observers and how to manage the technology and personnel of a Firing Battery. We had already learned this twice: at Cornell in our Advanced ROTC classes and at Ft. Bragg during Summer Camp following out Junior Year. But the Army thought we should hear it all again. So we listened to it all day and partied all night. It was a very good year.

Then, in June, 1952, we read in the Army Times that our orders had been "cut." About half of us were going to Korea, about a fourth of us were going to Germany, and the rest would be returning to their Stateside posts for another year of drilling the trainees. I was given a 30-day leave and ordered to report to Camp Stoneman, California, on July 1 to join the "Pipeline" to Korea. I went home to Naples, New York, for a couple weeks and then took a long, slow, train ride to California. And that's where this story begins.  I was 22 years old, very single, and ready for adventure.

 

SOURCES
 These notes were inspired by my own memory, refreshed by reading the letters home that my Mother carefully preserved for me, and the few military orders that I managed to save. The pictures have been around the house for years; most were probably included in those letters home. Some of the maps have recently been downloaded from the Internet.

 

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Joining the Thunderbirds

Bob Dean's 1952-1953 July 1952

MOVING WEST--TOWARDS THE FAR EAST

I left Naples in late June, taking a crowded train to San Francisco and somehow getting to nearby Camp Stoneman. This was a staging area with facilities for physical exams, the packing of unneeded clothing for shipment into storage (if necessary, they'd later be included among "final effects"), hanging around a very utilitarian Officers' Club bar, and free buses for a couple nighttime trips to San Francisco. I had been to San Francisco before with my family. The parts of San Francisco I saw on those nights in 1952 were very different. 

I remember several stops at The Tonga Room of the Mark Hopkins, where the storm on the floating dance floor occurred every 30 minutes.  We found ourselves tipping the bartender an extra $10 to make it happen more often.  (49 years later, my son, Paul, visited the Tonga Room; his pictures indicate that it's still the same.  But now you can't buy a drink for $10.)  

We soon found that we wouldn't be taking a slow boat to Inchon. With Artillery Observers in short supply we'd be flying to Japan--with stops at Hawaii, Wake Island, and Midway--on a 4-engine MATS (Military Air Transport Service) plane. And so, on July 7, 1952, we did.

We spent about 4 days and 4 nights in Japan, where we were issued M-1 carbines and combat fatigue uniforms. We spent the daytime hours cleaning the gunk off the brand new rifles and we spent our nights exploring the sinful side of Tokyo. My companions on these Tokyo explorations were a Captain in his 30's and a Major in his 40's. They seemed to be looking to me as their guide in some of these pursuits.

After five days of this we entrained for Yokohama and took an aging Liberty Ship to Inchon. There was no adequate harbor at Inchon, so we were loaded on old LSTs (probably left over from MacArthur's landing two years before) and, on a high tide, shipped through the quiet surf to Inchon. Another troop train took us to Yongdungp'o--a few miles south west of Seoul and "Division Rear" of the 45th Infantry Division.

WELCOME TO THE OKLAHOMA NATIONAL GUARD

The 45th Infantry Division was a federalized Oklahoma National Guard unit. It had fought valiantly in Europe (according to reports provided us) and in Korea where, in the month before my arrival, the division fought a series of attacks and counterattacks on "Old Baldy" and "T-Bone Hill." As I arrived, the division's Infantry Regiments were in reserve and battalions of the Division's artillery were on-line in direct support of the Korean 7th Division. Most of the original Oklahomans had gone home; the entire division was being re-populated with replacements. Like me.

After another day of administrative processing we  boarded a truck for a ride of about 15 miles. I was dropped off at Battery "C" of the 171st Field Artillery Battalion and met Captain Henry, my Commanding Officer (r. in photo). Captain Henry was gruff and authoritative during the day. At night he was usually drunk and somewhat friendlier. It was almost immediately obvious that he very much preferred that the young Lieutenants in his command be able and willing to drink along with him. So some of us tried. We told war stories (there weren't many of them for most of us to draw upon); we practiced pounding 4-inch nails into ammo boxes with our bare hands; and we developed calluses in our right hands by "karate-chopping" every spent beer can.. This was when beer cans were made of steel. Most beer drinkers don't do this anymore. It's too easy.

ON THE "HILL"

After a few days in the battery, and with great relief, I was sent to my first Observation Post, Near Mundung-Ni and Heartbreak Ridge, as a full-fledged Forward Observer. I joined a Liaison Officer (whose name I can't recall, but he was a Mississippi State Trooper who wanted badly to go home--and soon did), another FO (probably Lt. Prince), and two enlisted men. Our Reconnaissance Sergeant was named Ted Markuc. While he held the post of Recon Sgt., he was only a corporal. Later that fall, I sent him back to the battery and made him a private.

Our job "on the hill" was to provide artillery support for a regiment of the Seventh ROK (Republic of Korea) Division. They didn't need much support, so our only challenge was to make sure somebody stayed awake all the time (just in case) and to find things to do to amuse ourselves.

The MLR (Main Line of Resistance) was 'way on top of a very tall hill. There were two ways to get to it: by climbing that very tall hill on one's hands and knees or by riding on a rickety "cable car", welded out of an old Jeep frame and powered at the bottom of the hill by an old Jeep engine. It was obviously dangerous but, we figured, so was the war. So we rode on the cable car until the Army proclaimed if "off limits" to US personnel. After that we still rode on the cable car.

And so my first month and my entry into combat was complete--after riding on trains and buses, planes and ships...and a rickety cable car.

Division Battle Casualties in July: 367

 

MEANWHILE: BACK HOME IN THE STATES

The Republican Party nominated Dwight D. Eisenhower and Richard M. Nixon  as their candidates for President and Vice-President in the 1952 elections.  Later in the month the Democrats came up with Adlai E. Stevenson and John J. Sparkman.    

INTRODUCTORY NOTES
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 JAN 53  FEB 53  MAR 53 APR 53 MAY 53 JUN 53 JUL 53
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Liaison with  the ROKs

Bob Dean's 1952-1953 August 1952

Through August, I spent alternating weeks between the Battery and on the Hill. The Hill was better.

The time in the Battery was endured as an underemployed but overly-managed Lieutenant: free to wander about the area, teaching classes to the cannoneers, help with target plotting with duty every other night in the Fire Direction Center, get to know the other officers and learn where the facilities were located (right). It was a rainy and muddy month, with soggy sleeping bags and wet feet all the time.

 

 

 

The Battery Exec Officer was Lt. Graham. As Exec he was commander of the firing battery: charged with leading the only mission of the unit: firing six 105mm howitzers (like the one on the left) whenever "Fire Missions" came over the phone from nearby Battalion Fire Direction Center. I liked Lt. Graham. He was a Yale graduate--Class of '50--who had been in Korea about 8 months when I arrived.

 

The times on the hill were lots more fun. We didn't drink there, ever. Any of us. The State Trooper had gone home and the OP was occupied by Cpl Markuc, Lt. Prince, and another enlisted man whose name I can't recall. With the departure of the Trooper I became the senior officer and Liaison to the Korean Colonel who lived in the bunker next door. In our bunker we read lots of books.  We spent a little time each day picking out targets on the opposite hill, adjusting fire on them to provide Battalion FDC (Fire Direction Center) possible H & I (Harrassing and Interdictory) targets during the night. We ate "K" Rations regularly, learning to democratically apportion the good stuff. Each meal "ration" contained cans of tasty meals like spaghetti and meat sauce, beef patties in gravy, and several others of indeterminate substance, along with little circles of chocolate and five cigarettes. The cases they came in were dated 1943; in other words, they were intended for WWII soldiers but, happily, someone had saved them.

 

Lt. Prince used color film in his camera and often ordered copies to share with me.  He's on the right in this one; I'm on the left.

 

We had a dog, too. We fed him the Lima Beans and Ham meals that nobody else wanted. I never knew who found him and we never gave him a name, but he seemed to enjoy our company much more than that of the Republic of Korea (ROK) troops with which we were encamped. Later on, he disappeared one day.  I spoke with the ROK Colonel and found out why.  His troops needed some extra rations now and then, too.

The most fun was found in doing what we'd been sent there to do: adjusting artillery fire on real or imagined "targets" on the hills before us. This was accomplished by:

--calling the Battalion FDC on the phone (the radios were never reliable for this kind of thing)

--describing the target; usually "enemy troops assembled in open," the number of which was determined by our understanding of that day's minimum requirement

--convincing the Battalion operations officer (S-3) that the importance of the target justified the expenditure of a few rounds of ammo. The S-3 was usually Major Wagoner who called us "son" and, until he got to know and trust us, assumed we were terribly excited about the whole process and needed a calming and paternal counselor.

--firing an initial volley, making corrections ("Right 20, Drop 100" etc.) until the rounds were landing in the near vicinity of the target. 

--calling for "Fire for Effect," thus bringing 6 or 12 or 18 rounds crashing down on the troops (long gone, of course) who had once been "assembled in open."

Nights were a little spooky. We didn't know when an attack might occur, or in what strength. The ROK infantrymen went down into the valley in front of us every night, occasionally spurring a fire fight.

But the scarier part of our nighttimes were prompted by the rats which lived in the timbers of our sandbag covered bunker. While we tried to sleep, we could hear them crawling around above our bunks of field wire and air mattresses. This was especially annoying to me, since I had an upper bunk. One of my more lucid memories of my entire Korean tour was the night I listened to the rat gnawing away above me, reached for the bayonet lying next to my bunk, whipped it up quickly and jammed it between the logs where I'd heard the gnawing. A great squealing and a few drops of blood resulted: it was apparent that I'd impaled the rat. And that he was dying.

Rat (File Photo)

I moved my bedding and myself to the floor for the rest of the night. The next morning I pulled out the bayonet, let the rest of the blood dribble to the ground, and tried to remove the rat. All of us tried, but nobody succeeded. For the next several weeks there was a pretty bad smell coming from the timbers.

And that's what the war was like, in August.

  Division Battle Casualties in August: 6

MEANWHILE: BACK HOME IN THE STATES

Elizabeth Overbaugh completed her summer as a waitress at The Grenoble, a Catskill Mountain resort for Irish families.  She returned to Fishkill, NY, and prepared for her senior year at Cornell University.

INTRODUCTORY NOTES
JUL 52  AUG 52 SEP 52 OCT 52 NOV 52 DEC 52
 JAN 53  FEB 53  MAR 53 APR 53 MAY 53 JUN 53 JUL 53
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Artillery School ...Again

Bob Dean's 1952-1953 September 1952

September provided a little variety: a week in the Battery, a week on the Hill, and then two great weeks at a school--30 miles in the rear.

The battery continued to be pretty dreary duty, with lots of mud and lots of unhappy troops. One morning we heard a carbine fired from within the howitzer bunkers. A quick inspection found that one of the gunners had "accidentally" shot off his toe while "cleaning" his carbine. He was cleaned up and sent to the rear, where a General Court Martial, we heard, judged him a malingerer and sent him home with a dishonorable discharge. He didn't quite get to go home as intended however. He probably spent a few years in prison first.

Back on the hill, I welcomed Pfc. John Cevaal from Wisconsin. He'd had some training on the instruments we used and was assigned as "Instrument Operator," setting up the BC scope and keeping the radios running.

On the day we returned to the hill--the second week of September--a long line of people waited for the cable car to go up. Closer inspection identified them as young women, dressed in interesting combinations of GI clothing and Sears Catalog dresses. We quickly ascertained that they were prostitutes--about 50 in number--who'd been assigned to "service" the approximately 500 Republic of Korea GIs along the main trench at the top of the hill.

We were moved to the head of the line and cabled up the hill. And there, and from our bunker next door to that of the Colonel, we observed the proceedings: the Colonel's staff stood at the cable car as it completed its ascension. One at a time, they picked out the three or four women who would accompany them to the ROK Colonel's bunker. After a brief "entertaining" interlude therein, they were offered to me and to my staff. When we declined, they were moved on down the chain of command along with the others, to ensure that everyone who'd like to meet with them had that opportunity.

The only member of my team who seemed a little disappointed with our mutual declination of these services was the Japanese/American GI who served as my interpreter with the Koreans. During the weeks we'd been together I had learned to trust his translations less and less. And I wonder, to this day, what kind of diplomatic language he used in telling the Colonel we weren't interested.

My relationship with the ROK Colonel didn't suffer a bit, however. He continued to invite me to his bunker for "dinner" about twice a week where, in the interest of international relations, I ate things which looked like things I've refused to eat ever since, among them: kimchi. I didn't know what was in it then, but my subsequent research indicates that kimchi consists of "aged, pickled-in-brine cabbage, pickled radishes, and lots of mashed raw garlic, all swimming in powdered red pepper of the hottest variety." It smelled terrible--before, during and after eating it.

Then, during the third and fourth weeks of the month, I was assigned to a X Corps "Battery Executive Officers' School," about 30 miles in the rear of the front lines. We went to classes about 7 hours a day, lived in open air tents, without helmets, enjoyed a bar that almost looked like a real bar, and relaxed. We studied the same things we'd already studied at Cornell, at ROTC summer camp, at Camp Chaffee and at Fort Sill. So the curriculum wasn't especially demanding. I still have my report card from that session: my grades were only average--but my attitude was described as "Alert, Co-operative."

Walt Collins (right, in Cornell Yearbook attire) was at the school with me, along with about 30 other Lieutenants. He was part of the Cornell ROTC contingent which passed through Ft. Sill when I did. While we were there, he introduced me to chess. He taught me where all the pieces were allowed to move and he played several games with me.  I've played the game ever since, but haven't learned much more about it since Walt showed me the basics.

Richard Nixon made a speech beginning "I come before you tonight as a candidate for the Vice Presidency and as a man whose honesty and integrity have been questioned..." He ended with a reference to his little dog, Checkers.

INTRODUCTORY NOTES
JUL 52  AUG 52 SEP 52 OCT 52 NOV 52 DEC 52
 JAN 53  FEB 53  MAR 53 APR 53 MAY 53 JUN 53 JUL 53
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The school in the rear area was over much too quickly and I returned to the battery and then to the Hill, for a month in direct support of a US Infantry Regiment: the job we'd all been trained to do.

During the few days spent in the Battery this month, I was appointed Unit Voting Officer. I took this to mean that I was responsible for ensuring that every soldier had an opportunity to fill out and mail an absentee ballot in the forthcoming Presidential elections. So I went to each of the six howitzer position, assembled the cannoneers assigned to that section, told them how to fill out the ballot, and left enough for everyone. Unfortunately, they wanted to ask questions. And, even more unfortunately, the question they most wanted answered was "who should I vote for." I wasn't comfortable telling them my preference (Eisenhower), so a discussion usually followed. I remember one GI telling his friends "I'm gonna' vote for Roosevelt. My father always said he was a good president." Most of them seemed to agree.  I didn't argue.

The first night back on the Hill was especially interesting. I joined the officers and men of "K" Company, 180th Infantry Regiment late one afternoon, at the bottom of the hill. The regiment was preparing to replace a ROK regiment on a different part of the front from the one I'd been with in September. Everyone got organized and, around midnight, we began the quiet ascent of a hill just east of the Punch Bowl. We crept up the hill and into our positions--to find that the ROK company we were replacing was long gone!

This was a little spooky, of course, as we chose appropriate bunkers and settled the troops into position along the line. Was the enemy aware that the line was unmanned? Were they waiting in the bunkers and the trenches?

Apparently not. We moved into our new "housing" without incident and stayed awake and alert throughout the night. At dawn, however, as I peered out the OP Window of my bunker (one hole which lacked two sandbags) I saw a huge sign--about 20 yards wide--on the hill opposite us. It said "WELCOME US 180 INFANTRY REG."

So they knew we were there; they knew exactly who we were; and they chose to limit their offense to a little advertising.

Hence my first "Fire Mission" of the morning: I adjusted about 50 rounds of 105mm artillery fire on the banner and pretty well destroyed it.

Along towards evening I had the most excitement of my entire tour. As I was gazing out my little window, looking for possible H and I recommendations, I saw a muzzle flash about a mile away, near the top of the enemy hill. And, almost immediately, a bazooka round hit just below and a little to the left of my bunker. I grabbed the phone, rang up my battalion FDC, and called for a couple rounds on the co-ordinates of the flash I'd seen. The rounds missed, another flash came, and another enemy round came in--just a little closer to my bunker. This little "duel" lasted about an hour, probably. It was never clear whether I hit the rocket launcher or not. But Captain Baker, King Company commander, joined me for the last half-hour of the action. He was excited and impressed, and spent the rest of our weeks together trying to get me to go on a "patrol" into enemy territory with him. Because I was "assigned" to his unit and under the command of my Artillery Liaison Officer, who was nowhere around, he couldn't order me to do anything. But he sure wanted me to go on patrol. And the Liaison Officer most certainly did not.

Nights on the hill were a lot more interesting with an American unit. Every night one of the platoons was assigned to patrol down in the valley, under immediate command of the Lieutenant commanding that platoon. The other platoon leaders and I were on a "hot loop" phone line, following the patrol's activities. I was prepared to bring in artillery support of they found any enemy platoons foolish enough to be doing the same thing.

Most of the time, they didn't. And most of the quiet talk on the phone line was about jokes we'd heard, places we'd visited, plans for the future. Once we had determined that gung-ho Captain Baker had gone to bed the discussions were often about him. I only met these other Lieutenants a few times during the day; but we became good friends during those all-night telephone chats.

It was during this month that Cpl. Hansel W. Washington was killed on a night patrol with the Third Platoon. I experienced it only by listening to the firefight down in the valley, a half-mile away, and to the Platoon Leader's frantic radio calls for help when it was clear that Washington was severely wounded. He was dead by the time they got his body back to the Company. And the brave Captain Baker scored many points with the troops by insisting that a rescue helicopter come--in the dead of night--to "rescue" Cpl. Washington. He didn't tell them he was dead. I remember the entire incident so clearly because American casualties were a rarity during my tour in Korea. I may have killed some North Koreans with my adjusted artillery fire (that, after all, was the reason I was there) but death on our side was rare, indeed.

Sometime during this month, I was promoted to 1st Lieutenant. I don't remember any particular celebration when this occurred, but the "Date of Rank" on subsequent orders indicates "29 Oct 52." So I found a silver bar to replace the gold bar and went about the same duties as before.

MEANWHILE: BACK HOME IN THE STATES

Retired General Dwight Eisenhower made a campaign promise that, when elected, he would "go to Korea."

Most of the troops on the ground in Korea suggested that, if General Eisenhower were elected, they were more than willing to "go home."

INTRODUCTORY NOTES
JUL 52  AUG 52 SEP 52 OCT 52 NOV 52 DEC 52
 JAN 53  FEB 53  MAR 53 APR 53 MAY 53 JUN 53 JUL 53
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Winter on the Hill

Bob Dean's 1952-1953 January 1953

The first week in January they sent me back to the Hill. The 45th's 180th Regiment had gone into reserve, so I was supporting a unit of the 12th ROK Division, in a sector a little east of the one I'd inhabited in November. It was very, very, cold and we rarely ventured forth from our Observation Post bunker, content to sit by our Yukon stove--a rectangular parallelepiped fashioned of tin, with an oil burner inside. It served to heat our rations and ourselves, as long as we continued to feed it fuel oil from big 5-gallon cans, which also served as our somewhat uncomfortable seats. We were frequently reminded by Division HQ of how dangerous these were. We continually reminded them of how warm they made us feel.

We were also outfitted with good, warm clothing on top of everything pictured here: heavy near-canvas-like trousers over the fatigue pants; a sweater and a padded field jacket over our flak jackets; and the wonderful "Mickey Mouse" boots that used two layers of rubber with an air cushion in between to keep our feet nice and warm and sweaty.

I don't remember much about the troops I was supporting; it isn't nearly as interesting to spend the night on the phone with people who can't communicate. But I remember two people--one of whom I can actually name--that made the two weeks of mid-January interesting.

One was our driver who, along with now-Sgt. Cevaal and the Instrument Corporal whose name I can't recall, comprised our 4-man Forward Observer party. I can't recall the driver's name, so I'll refer to him as "Lewis." His job was to drive our jeep (with trailer) to the foot of the hill, climb up to us with hot rations when possible, and then wait--with us or at the bottom of the hill--in case we needed to retreat in a hurry. He didn't always spend the night in our bunker but, on one occasion, he told me his story while we sat up through the night:

Lewis had been in Korea before, with the Seventh Division in the winter of 1950. Those were very bad days, of course. They were trapped 'way up North and had to fight their way out through nearly impossible odds. After three days and three nights without sleep, Lewis fell asleep while on perimeter guard duty.

His Platoon Leader found him asleep at his post and processed a quick court martial, sending Lewis back to the States and to a 20-year term in the US Federal Prison at Leavenworth, Kansas.

He told me it wasn't too bad there, at first. It was a lot warmer than Korea had been; he was a musician and began playing in the prison band; he made a lot of friends among people who were there for the same reason. But after a few months he began to realize he was stuck there for the next 20 years!

So when they came by and made an offer, he was quick to accept. Prisoners who volunteered to return to Korea for a couple more years were to be released and, at the completion of this new tour, they'd be given an Honorable Discharge.

So Lewis accepted and ended up with us. We had a rule in my OP (and in all of them, I assume) that someone had to be awake at all times. While Lewis was with us, we never had to worry about that.

Another principal in my Korea story was Lt., and then Captain, Francis Pommet. He was in my class at Ft. Sill in early '52: an older 1st Lt. who, in "civilian" life was an Army Sergeant on administrative and recruiting duty in New York City. At The Artillery School we called him "Luigi," because he looked--and quite possibly  was--Italian.

The next thing I knew he was in Korea and he was my Liaison Officer: my "boss," and the guy who kept me from going on patrol unless he, or I, really wanted to. I remembered him as a friendly, older, guy who had trouble understanding the technology of Artillery but no problem understanding the Army and how it worked. He remembered me, I believe, as the guy in the class who understood all the gunnery mathematics, but didn't care a lot about the Army.

So we worked well together. He climbed up the hill to see me at least once a week; made his manners with the Company Commander I was supporting, and spent some time just talking about the old army and the new army and our respective places therein.

So I wasn't too surprised when, on one of the last days in January, I was ordered to return to Battalion HQ, transferred from Battery "C" to Battery "A," and appointed Battery Executive Officer, reporting to the new Battery Commander: Captain Pommet.

And that was the end of my time on The Hill.

Division Battle Casualties in January: 10

MEANWHILE: BACK IN THE STATES

The only nephew I'll ever have was born in Illinois on January 18.  He was Glenn William Reed, son of sister Betty Dean Reed and her husband, Dwight Reed.

INTRODUCTORY NOTES
JUL 52  AUG 52 SEP 52 OCT 52 NOV 52 DEC 52
 JAN 53  FEB 53  MAR 53 APR 53 MAY 53 JUN 53 JUL 53
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Rest & Recuperation

Bob Dean's 1952-1953 February 1953

February 1953 was an interesting and important month: I began the first "management" job of my life and I went to Japan for six days of "R&R."

A few words of organizational explanation: a 105mm howitzer battery comprises about 120 soldiers:

--about 65 of them are assigned to the six howitzers of the Firing Battery

--about 6 more are assigned to the Battery Fire Direction Center (FDC).

--there are three Forward Observer parties of four men each

--the rest of the officers and men are assigned to support roles: administration, vehicle maintenance, and mess (i.e., food) preparation.

The Battery Executive Officer is commander of the Firing Battery and the FDC. He's responsible for training and performance of the howitzer crews and the Fire Direction personnel--who plot targets and translate co-ordinates into commands for the gunners. He has two Assistant Execs reporting to him; they assist primarily in staffing the FDC 24 hours a day. He also has a Chief of Firing Battery--a Master Sergeant to whom each of the Chiefs of Sections (i.e., sergeants at each howitzer) report.

All this, and the technical details of the responsibility, are  explained in detail in the two basic Field Artillery "Bibles:" FM 6-40 and FM 6-140.  At one time I knew just about everything in both of them.   And I still keep them around, just in case.

I inherited the Exec job from another Lieutenant who'd made it clear that he didn't really want the job. He was planning to go home in a couple months and would rather wait out his tour with little or no responsibility. So the Captain obliged him. And one of my Assistant Execs was therefore in place.

So I introduced myself to this crowd of people, posed for a picture, began thinking about what to do about it all.  Just as I began to figure it out, I was told I was on the list for Rest and Recuperation in Japan--a little vacation I'd waited seven months to earn and enjoy.

And off I went, to the port of Kokura, Japan. Several of us--enlisted men and officers--were trucked to Division Rear where we were placed on DC-3s and flown to Japan. Kokura was just one of about 5 R&R towns; I remember that Tokyo and Osaka were two others. As soon as the plane landed, everyone was herded into a big mess hall where they were served cold milk and steak. Then we were issued clean Class "A" uniforms that nearly fit and sent out into the town to "have fun." I think everyone did.

There were only a few ways to "have fun." About 100 young Japanese ladies waited just outside the gate to suggest several of them. And then there were bars, bars, bars, dancing pavilions, and gambling establishments. I tried the bars the first evening, then found the USO, where they offered choices of exclusive resorts less than a day away (by train) where one really could relax and, possibly, recuperate. So I chose one of these, the Aso Kanko Hotel, figured out how to catch a train, and went there for about 4 days.

It was a very fancy resort, for wealthy Japanese businessmen and their families and for a few American officers. I was unaccompanied by any of my R&R traveling companions and was quite happy to be virtually alone: I bathed naked in the communal bath (really a steaming swimming pool) with a couple Japanese families. They didn't mind. And I tried not to. I read fairly recent American magazines on the patio. I took a few walks around the grounds, but didn't find this to be much of a diversion.

I placed a phone call home to Naples as soon as I arrived and then waited two days in the little hotel bar (left in their brochure, below) for the connection to be completed. It finally was--on Washington's Birthday--and I spoke briefly with my father. There wasn't much to say, but I'd promised them a call.

 

 

 

 

And then I took the train back to the US Base at Kokura, got on the plane and returned to The War. My friends in the Battery were, of course, very curious about the extent of sin I'd engaged in during my six days off. I told them some stories and went back to work.
Division Battle Casualties in February: 56

MEANWHILE: BACK IN THE STATES

My Grandmother Burden died sometime during February.  Since 1940 she had lived with us in Naples during most of the winter months, but I remembered her best from summers at her cottage near Ontario Lake in Sodus Point, New York.  My remaining grandparent was gone. 

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Shooting Blanks for the General

Bob Dean's 1952-1953 March 1953

 

 

The return to the Battery and my new job at the Battery Fire Direction Center brought with it a change in two things I held dear: the end of my 4-point months; and the end of my automatic $100/month combat pay.

 

The system for determining length of service in Korea was this:

--service anywhere in Korea earned 2 points/month

--service within the sound of enemy guns brought 3 points

--action on the Main Line of Resistance was worth 4

--it took a total of 36 points to go home

Thus, service in the rear areas could go on for two whole years; in the battery, you'd stay one year; and if you were "lucky" enough to stay on the line all that time you'd go home in just 9 months.

I had been picking up 4 points/ month since July but now, in the battery, I'd be reverting to 3. So I now figured on going home in June. In fact, my "contract" with the government called for my discharge on or before 31 July, so it didn't seem to make a lot of difference.

Combat pay was a different issue. People behind the Main Line of Resistance (MLR) received their $100 only in months when at least one enemy round fell within their unit (i.e., battery) position. Thus, everyone in the battery--in the best team spirit I observed all year--yearned for one enemy artillery round to land in a far corner of the battery position. The Captain and I did our best to assure this qualification: the boundaries of the battery position could be pretty flexible; and many sounds could emulate a shell landing. Most months, we qualified for what we generally referred to as our "car payment" when we got home.

Spring brought us better weather, higher spirits, and a new Colonel. Colonel Miller was a West Point Graduate with high standards of efficiency and ambitious plans for his own future.

I began to feel rather honored as good things came our way:

--Our battery was among the very first in Korea to receive the new jeeps and 3/4 ton trucks and 2 1/2 ton "prime movers"--the trucks that pulled the howitzers. All of them were equipped with the newest radio equipment, too. We began to feel like we'd graduated from WWII and were on to new technological adventures.

--Probably because we had the new equipment, my battery was ordered to star in a US Army training film, called "The Firing Battery in Action."  It was lots of fun, with young GI camera crews surrounding us all day for several days. I never saw the result, though I've argued for years that a couple scenes from much more recent TV accounts of the Korean War included and highlighted our acting skills.

--Two of my howitzers were asked to fire a 13-gun salute when our Division Commander--General Ruffner--retired from the Military Service and went home. We were issued red scarves and clean uniforms, pulled the guns out of their emplacements, and traveled 20 miles or so to the rear to participate in the elaborate ceremony. According to the Colonel who met us and gave us copies of the plans for the day, the artillery salute was a surprise to the General. Those plans were, of course, signed by the General.

Somewhere, these notes should mention that, thanks to an Executive decision by President Harry Truman, the Korean War was the very first time that the United States brought a racially integrated Army into a combat theater. In our battery, black soldiers and white soldiers lived together in the very close quarters of the bunkers next to their howitzers. I promoted a least two black soldiers (we didn't call them "black"; I think we called them "Negroes") to positions of responsibility. 

And I remember "counseling" one white soldier who told me he was "a Southern boy, and just couldn't take orders from a Negro." He wanted to change gun crews. But that didn't happen.
Division Battle Casualties in March: 76

MEANWHILE: IN OTHER CORNERS OF THE WORLD

Joseph Stalin's death was announced to the people of the Soviet Union on March 6.  Historians now believe his death may have prompted an increased enthusiasm for armistice by the North Korean government.

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The Colonel's Exercises

Bob Dean's 1952-1953 April 1953

And so the war dragged on, with a few fire missions during the day, a few sporadic outgoing rounds during the night, and the Colonel's exercises to keep us combat-ready. I had my own private bunker, close to the FDC, and a Korean houseboy who kept my quarters neat and my clothes washed.

 

I bought a radio from someone going home, for $10. It had been converted to be operable with GI radio batteries and provided the popular songs of the day in our FDC, thanks to the Armed Forces Radio Network. When I left I sold it to my replacement for $10.

I bought several other things, one at a time, from the Battery PX.  It was a small "store," managed by the Administrative Warrant Officer, and open about an hour each day.  As the spring wore on, I bought a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses (for $6; worth $12), a Kodak 35mm. camera ($50), and a Parker ballpoint pen for $6.  Almost bought a Smith Corona portable typewriter but, after trying it out on a few letters home, decided against it.

The PX also sold various "sundries," like toothpaste and razor blades stationary and such.  One week, a big supply of after-shave lotion came in--and was gone within minutes.  We later found out why: our very, very, capable Chief of Firing Battery had purchased and consumed it all.  After totally uncharacteristic behavior, he was found unconscious in his bunk.  He woke up a corporal and began his climb back to the rank he (most of the time) richly deserved.

 

 

He wasn't the only non-com whose rank was diminished, however.  This excerpt from one of my typewritten letters home describe another instance (and also reveal my now-embarrassing terminology of the time):

"I made one little colored boy a chief of section a couple months back, because he knew his howitzer, knew his men, and acted like he knew how to handle both of them. He did a good job for a month or so, so we made him a Sergeant. Last night, he told me that he'd rather not have the responsibilities of being a chief of section anymore--he's about to go home and would rather work than work people for the next few weeks. I made him a corporal this morning. "

One of Colonel Miller's paths to combat readiness was to surprise an entire Battery with an "RSOP" (Reconnaisance, Survey and Occupation of Position) order--prompting us to pull up the trucks, haul the howitzers out of position, drive them down the road, place them in a new position somewhere else, get firing orders from the Battalion FDC, and fire a few rounds in the direction of the Enemy.

One day, he had me do this three times. The first two times he observed little discrepancies (e.g., a soldier standing up in the back of the truck while underway) and sent us all back. The third time, we went into the new position, ran through the sequence of firing commands, and--just as he arrived at the front of the battery to check us out--fired the leftmost howitzer directly over his head. He was startled, to say the least. But he was also wrong to be standing where he was standing while a fire mission was underway.

We returned to our usual position. And that evening, while the Captain and I were having a drink in the Captain's bunker, the Colonel arrived. He made no mention of the day's activities. But he did announce that I was relieved of my duties as Battery Executive Officer and assigned to Battery "B" As executive officer.

The New General came down with a new order--everyone had to spend a half-hour each day running up and down hills "to get back into shape."  I did it without complaint, because running up and down hills never bothered me as much as most others and I got enough enjoyment out of watching them sweat to make it all worthwhile.

Division Battle Casualties in April: 56

MEANWHILE: IN OTHER CORNERS OF KOREA

Prisoner exchanges began between the warring nations.  And peace talks resumed at a place called Panmunjon. 

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Gary Cooper  ...Interrupted

Bob Dean's 1952-1953 May 1953

It was quickly obvious why the Colonel had made this change in my "B" Battery Executive Officer assignment: the war was coming to a close and he wanted to install one of the young Lieutenants from West Point as a Battery Exec. It's a choice assignment and would look good on the resume of a career officer. I had some serious misgivings about the  qualifications of the young man he appointed, but didn't reveal them to the Colonel.  It was, after all, his Army and his West Point and soon, I sincerely hoped, would be his war.

The six weeks in Battery "B" was, with one exception, pretty uneventful. The Battery Commander was my old friend Jim O'Neil, from the Tankers' school in December. He was waiting to go home and pretty relaxed about the whole business of making war. I had a little challenge at first, training the six gun crews to fire completely in unison when I spoke the command "Battery...FIRE" into the telephone on the hotline connecting them. They learned to do it well; I acquired two new Assistant Execs to do my bidding; and found time for a few naps every day.

The only night that stands out in my memory began with a newly released movie, "High Noon," showing in the Battalion HQ area a quarter mile away. About twice a week, when weather permitted, a big white sheet was strung between two trees or poles, a 16mm. projector with speakers was set up and the several reels of a first-run movie from the States were exhibited for any off-duty personnel from HQ or the surrounding firing batteries. The Americans sat on the ground on the appropriate side of the screen while the Koreans (assigned solders, called "Katusa's" as well as the laborers and houseboys who worked in the area) sat on the other side. They didn't mind when English words appeared reversed on their side of the screen, though the clock in "High Noon" may have confused them a little.

Anyway, as the movie plodded on to its inevitable conclusion (as seen by the Korean audience, left), we were suddenly interrupted by volley after volley of howitzer rounds from all three of the batteries around us. The movie stopped, we all returned to our batteries, and I didn't see the end of High Noon for several years.

 

Back in "B" Battery I found the telephone line to the guns was broken, resulting in a general state of confusion. So I climbed up on the roof of the Fire Direction Center, listened to commands from the assistant Exec below, and shouted them out to the gunners in front of me:

"Battery Adjust...Shell HE...Charge 5...Fuse Quick...Battery one round...Deflection 2823...Elevation 343," at which point the rounds were jammed into the howitzer tubes"

Each piece reported back with "Number one is Ready...Number three is ready...etc." And, when all reported their readiness I was able to yell "BATTERY...FIRE!"

And it often sounded like one big "BANG." I had done this series of commands more than a thousand times in the months before, but on this occasion I did it all night long, standing on top of the bunker and really enjoying myself.

The next morning things quieted down. There had been a major push by the enemy on one of the hills in front of us, and there had been a real danger of a breakthrough to our positions*. Sometime in the middle of the night I'd ordered the 2 1/2-ton Prime Movers (i.e., trucks) backed into the gun positions, in case we needed to do a quick retreat.

But we didn't. The morning came quietly and, around 6:00 am, the Colonel was spotted wandering through the battery position congratulating the great unwashed on a "mission well done." He was pleased as punch and appeared unshaven--as if he'd taken the trouble to grow a little extra beard to celebrate his first real wartime "action." That didn't especially impress me. But the S-3 accompanying him took me aside and said "Dean: I could tell the minute you got back to your battery last night. The guns all started firing in unison." He was impressed. I was impressed. And I'm sure I remembered his remark a lot longer than he did.

*More recent historical reports have informed me that this attack was "the last and strongest North Korean 100,000 man offensive against the ROK side of the line, answered with withering firepower that stopped them cold."  Six of those howitzers contributing to the withering firepower were mine.

Division Battle Casualties in May: 44

MEANWHILE: BACK IN THE USA

On May 9,  Secretary of State John Foster Dulles issued a statement committing United States Emergency Aid to Laos and Thailand "in the face of Viet Minh aggression."

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A Going-Home Gift

Bob Dean's 1952-1953 June 1953

Back in April, the "A" Battery Warrant Officer who handled all our administrative processes (and journeyed to Seoul twice a month to take in the girlie shows and get us fresh booze) told me that the Captain wanted to put me in for an award, and that the Captain wasn't very good at writing these things. So I was asked to write what I might consider an appropriate citation if ever I were to be so honored. He left me with his typewriter and wandered off into the battery to tell everyone about the girlie shows in Seoul.

In a frenzy of inspiration and self-adulation, this is what I wrote:

First Lieutenant ROBERT F. DEAN...distinguished himself by meritorious service in connection with military operations against an armed enemy, in Korea, from 28 January 1953 to 25 May 1953. As Executive Officer for his battery, Lieutenant DEAN, performed all of his duties in an outstanding manner. Taking the position at a time when he had little prior experience, he soon mastered the complex problems of his position. Constantly striving for perfection and never relaxing until the safety, morale, and efficiency of the firing battery were assured, he soon had the unit functioning as a highly trained and smoothly working team capable of carrying out any mission it might be assigned. During prolonged fire missions, Lieutenant DEAN was constantly seen throughout the area making on the spot checks in order to eliminate any possible chance of error. The superior duty performance exhibited by Lieutenant DEAN throughout this period reflects great credit upon himself and the military service. Entered the Federal Service from New York.

And while I was at it, I wrote up something similarly dramatic describing the contributions of Sgt. Lyons, my Chief of Firing Battery.

Whenever a few people from the Battalion were about to leave for home, a small formation was put together at Battalion Headquarters (right next to the movie theater) and a few medals were passed out: Good Conduct awards for the enlisted men; a few Bronze Stars for the officers; and the very occasional Purple Heart. Sometime in the second week of June it was our turn.

At an appropriate point in the ceremonies Colonel Miller stood before me, pinned on my Bronze Star and read a glowing citation about what I'd done in the battery while he was picking on me in March and April. I was pleased and delighted, though I was probably more familiar with the words than he was.

But I was even more pleased and delighted when they pinned another Bronze Star on Sgt. Lyons. Not many non-coms got them in those days. He, too, was pleased and delighted.

A few days later, we started home. A truck to Yongdungp'o; quick train ride to Inchon harbor; the old LST's to our troopship: the General Hase. On that final walk to the LSTs, we actually filed past the new people just arriving. It was like a scene from the 1949 movie "Battleground": the old veterans with their seasoned stares; the young and uninitiated with fear in their eyes. At least, that's the way WE saw it. It was great!

Division Battle Casualties in June: 72

MEANWHILE: BACK IN THE USA

Elizabeth Overbaugh completed her Cornell University studies and, on June 15, was awarded a Bachelor of Arts Degree.  She went forth towards a career in education--beginning as a Junior High School mathematics teacher in Wellsville, NY.

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Floating Home on the Hase: The Last Chapter

Bob Dean's 1952-1953 July 1953

It took five weeks to get home. We left Inchon in mid-June and enjoyed a 30-day roundabout trip across the Pacific aboard the General Hase.

The General W. F. Hase floated along (on what my subsequent research indicates was her penultimate voyage) at 17 knots, carrying 228 officers, 3500 enlisted men and a civilian crew. The days on board ship were terribly uneventful, and there were lots and lots of them. As officers, we ate well: three big meals a day in a nice room with linen tablecloths and napkins and mess boys taking our orders: steak or lobster, sir? In order to get to our first-class restaurant, however, we had to break through the lines of enlisted men who, upon completing breakfast, had to begin standing in line for lunch; or wait until supper. It was the most blatant exhibition of Rank having Privileges I'd ever seen. I was glad I didn't have to serve with the Navy.

There was no booze on board (except for a very few bottles brought on at great risk by the bravest among us), so the long trip gave us a chance to change our wicked ways. By the time we got off most of us had reformed from everyday whisky drinkers to join those who have a few beers in the evening. A welcome change.

I received orders to be the "Recreation Officer" in hold #4--a huge room with about 200 men and their bunks. I was supposed to open the "games locker" each morning, distribute decks of cards and monopoly games to the Enlisted men, and then return to lock up the games at night. I passed them out the first morning and never went back. But I did rescue a Monopoly game for my "stateroom" of 12 officers (3 tiers of 4 bunks) and we played a very extended game for weeks and weeks. Nobody in this particular group wanted to play poker and, in fact, I never was with a poker group at any time in my Army tour. That's probably the reason I was able to buy a new car when I got home.

A

After about 10 days we stopped a Subic Bay in the Phillipines to pick up about 200 Seabees who also wanted to go home. As we pulled into the dock, we were greeted by a large group of young ladies--the first American womanhood we'd seen in 12 months. Everyone was allowed to go ashore overnight. Only two Enlisted Men were missing--and missed the ship--when we left the next morning.

 

 

 

A few days later, while underway, a Chief Petty Officer from the Seabees died. We were informed of this over the ship's PA system. His fellow CB's held a memorial service, but we were denied a burial at sea. He spent the rest of our voyage in the food freezer, with space made available by our consumption of steaks and lobsters, we supposed.

1953 was the year I celebrated the Fourth of July twice, by crossing the International Dateline at just the right time. I have announced this  to whomever was nearby on every July 4th since. At the time, it only seemed to make the voyage longer.

Finally, after a stop at Port Hueneme, south of Los Angeles, to let the Seabees off, we cruised up the coast and under the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco Harbor.  That sight was every bit as emotional and as memorable as every other returning GI has always described it.

A US Army band met us on the wharf, playing "You Belong to Me." Many of us  wished we'd spent the last year in San Francisco with the Band.

Five of us were assigned to Camp Kilmer in New Jersey.  We boarded a a train (not a Troop Train; a good and comfortable  civilian train) for the four-day trip. Most our days were spent in the club car with our new friend--cold beer--and a deck of cards.  We adjourned to our Pullman berths at night.

Instead of accepting the quarters assigned to us at Camp Kilmer, the five of us rented a room in a nearby hotel, took turns soaking in a tub, and then grabbed a bus for New York City and a night in Greenwich Village. The next day we signed our discharges, endured a final physical exam, and were released from Active Duty. I've celebrated that date, July 17, in every year since.

A week later, on July 27, the United States signed an Armistice with North Korea.

The conflict was over.  And so was my war.  

Division Battle Casualties in July: 513

THE REST OF THE STORY:

Within one year of my July 17 release from active duty I had a new car (a 1953 Chevrolet), a Master's degree (from Albany State University), a wife (Elizabeth Overbaugh), and a job (as a mathematics instructor in Johnson City, NY). 

 I continued my relationship with the Army, enjoying several years of weekly meetings and summer camps with the United States Army Reserve, and was promoted to Major in 1964.  In 1968, I received an Honorable Discharge.  It hangs on my office wall next to a fading panoramic photo of "OP B2"-- my home in October, 1952. 

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