白雪이 자자진 골에 구름이 머흐레라
반가온 梅花난 어내곳에 퓌엿난고
夕陽의 호올노 서서 갈곳 몰라 하노라
李穡
Where pure snow flakes melt
Dark clouds gather threatening
Where
art the spring flowers abloom
A lonely figure lost in the shadow
of sinking sun, I have no place to go.
Lee Saik, 1328-1395 AD, on declining Koryo
I spent my last Christmas in North Korea on a South Korean Navy ship moving away from the communist forces. The ship was stuck in mud at Hungnam harbor and got a tow by an American warship late Christmas eve of 1950, barely a step ahead of Chinese mortars. There was no Santa Clause on that ship and few, if any, of us even were aware of the Christmas day. The closest thing Christmassy was the US naval shells whistling over our heads and the whole city of Hungnam burning. We were fighting for our dear life and our minds were numb from the grave events overtaking us. Leaving behind one's loved ones on a journey unknown is a tough undertaking for anyone.
I am sure that I was involved in Christmas celebrations in 1951 through 1953, but the only Christmas I recall now is that of 1954, my last Christmas in Korea. The Latter Day Saints from the lost tribe, as the Korean Mormons were called, and from America held a joint celebration at the US 8th chapel early in the day. I was given the honor of saying the opening prayer, which was somewhat too long at over 10 minutes, the American bishop chided me. After a series pf sermons and testimonials, we sang Mormon hymns and exchanged gifts. After the ceremony, our American friends drove us to Dr. Kim’s residence for a more traditional celebration.
Mrs. Kim served us rice cakes, candies, noodles and other Korean delicacies. We were one happy family and went out Christmas caroling that night. There were about 20 Korean Mormons at the time, scattered all over Seoul. We toured the whole city singing our hearts out. Of course, we were not the only carolers in Seoul that night; there were many other Korean Christians out in the street rejoicing the Holy Day, the very first after the war.
Mormon.jpg.
Korean Mormons socializing at Dr. Kim Hyo Jik’s residence in 1954. The
sole American, 3rd from left, is Averd Wilson.
After completing our round, we returned to Dr. Kim’s house for an early morning breakfast of noodles, and also to rest our tired bodies. We crammed into Sun Whan’s room, he was the eldest son of Dr. Kim, and listened to his golden voice singing classical songs, Ave Maria and many others I was not familiar with. He majored in music at Seoul University and singing was in his blood. That was the best, the last and the only, Christmas I enjoyed celebrating and one of my most memorable days in South Korea. I still remember the day as if it were yesterday and wonder if I would ever see any of my old friends again before Grim Reaper comes knocking on my door. I know for sure that Dr. Kim and his wife passed away years ago. I also know that Sun Whan became a popular tenor in Italy some years ago, but I don’t know where he is or if he is still alive.
One of the American Mormons who drove us around was a part Ute Indian, George White was his name. He worked at the US 8th Army motor pool and knew how to locate military vehicles for us. I got to know him quite well and when I was in town, we spent weekends together driving around Seoul and the surrounding mountains. Because of his Indian ancestry, he was very much interested in learning more about Korea. He told me that the Ute’s culture and mores had a lot common with ours. I took him to Yi Dynasty palaces, museums and Seoul University campus. George was also fond of Korean foods. He was about the only American I knew at the time who liked kimchi. He loved spicy cold noodles Pyongyang style. He even claimed that he would not mind living in Korea!
Figure gi1.gif. My American friend George White at Seoul University Graduate School in 1954.
A few years later, I ran into George in Provo, Utah. He was married to a white woman, and lived in a small trailer with her mother. He was a student at Brigham Young University on a GI Bill. They were extremely poor. He was kind enough to invite me to a family dinner to share what little they had to eat, a small piece of venison from a deer he killed a year ago. I felt uneasy and uncomfortable about eating his food, and moreover, his wife and mother-in-law were icy-cold to my presence. That was the last time I saw George. I heard that he left his family and went back to his tribal reservation. In 1980, I was at the Ute tribal council pitching my computer software for oil and gas royalty tracking. The Utes owned the minerals rights of the reservation lands and received millions of dollars every year from oil companies. The revenues were doled out to Utes who were at least 25 percent Indian. I had hoped to meet my old friend and searched for George’s name on the payee list, in vain. The tribal chief said it was because either poor George had too much white blood or he was no longer around.
Mormon1.gif. Korean Mormon on an outing at Han River. I am 3rd from right standing and my boyhood friend Hyogun is 2nd from left also standing.
I saw no future for me in Korea. I gave up the foolish notion of returning home with the UN forces. Gen. MacArthur was gone and so was his promise of returning us to our home in “one month”. He let me and millions of other Koreans down. The long bloody war was over and we had to accept the fact that we were stuck in the status quo for many years to come. I would never see my parents, sister and childhood friends ever again. I was forced to alter my long-term plans and they did not include hanging around in Seoul. Mine eyes were set on the Land of Golden opportunity.
In post-war Seoul, America beckoned to us. American people opened their hearts and purses to the poor Koreans. Korean orphans and students were welcome to America. American universities offered scholarships and accepted Korean school credits. The American Embassy had a small library that had a list of the American universities that offered scholarships.
My American Mormon friends came through for me. Brigham Young University at Provo, Utah, gave me a tuition scholarship. I would be accepted as a junior in the Physics Department, and the Department chair, Professor Wayne, wrote me a personal letter welcoming me and promising me some financial aids from his department’s budget.
There were two major hurdles I had to overcome: I had no money for the trip to America and I needed a passport. Since I came from North Korea, there was no official record of me in Seoul, and without an official record, there could be no passport. My brother came to my help. Synman Rhee pretended that he ruled all of Korea and maintained provincial governments of the five northern provinces. Each province had a governor and a small staff. Most importantly, it kept birth records that were acceptable to the Seoul government. In order to get recorded, you had to come up with three reliable witnesses. My brother found three neighbors of ours from Hamhung and they testified for me. I was certified to be a genuine anti-communist Korean citizen.
The cheapest way to America was by a slow boat. A Korean cargo ship was willing to take in 10 passengers for $150 each. This would include room and board during the month-long journey. I would need about $100 for land transportation and food until I reached the Mormon homeland. My Mormon friend Averd Wilson sent me $300 and my brother raised about $200. He had contacted every soul and body he knew and asked for donation on my behalf.
My friend Kim Sun Whan had a friend who knew the ROKA colonel in charge of the passport section. Sun Whan said that the best way to get a passport was to be “nice” to this colonel. A dinner at a Chinese restaurant and a donation of US$100 would do, he said.
Figure
25. Kim Sun Whan (seated) and I – A sad parting in 1955.
So, Sun Whan, the colonel and I met at a Chinese restaurant in Seoul. Sun Whan, after reminding the colonel of that fact that his father served in Rhee’s cabinet, did an admirable job of selling me to the colonel, telling him how I joined the Student Volunteers Army when I was still a boy of 15, how I managed to attend school while serving the country as an intelligence officer for the United Nations and so on. The good colonel was sold and he had tears in his eyes after hearing my ‘tragic’ life story. He asked me why I wanted to go to America. I told him that I intended to study nuclear physics and return home to help build a nuclear Korea. He was impressed and told me to see him in his office next day.
Sun Whan thought that I might not need the donation, but suggested that I should play it safe and give the colonel $50 as a token appreciation of his kindness. It was on September 15, 1955 that I received my passport, ROK Passport #7085, issued by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Republic of Korea. Col. Cho Jung Whan, the Deputy Minister, signed it. In those days of military government, military men held all key government positions.
Passport,jpg.
My South Korean passport issued in 1955.
That September 28, I received the mandatory immunization shots, international certificates of vaccination (Issue #5274 signed by Dr. C. H. Whang.). In addition, the US Embassy required certification of no ringworm and tuberculosis. I did have some ringworms and it took me two weeks to rid me of them.
By October 10, 1955, I was all set to leave for America to study at the Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. I had my passport with a student visa stamped by the US Embassy people, bought a passenger ticket on a South Korean freighter headed to Portland, Oregon. My world health certificate was in order. It was time to tell my spymaster.
To this date, I am yet to determine the real identity of "USAF 6006 AIRS". There is no mention of it on any published documents. There are archives on "USAF 6006 Air Intelligence Service Squadron, 6006 AISS, aka NICK and also AIAF 6004 AISS. I believe 6006 AIRS was run by the US CIA and received logistics from 6006 AISS. The 6006 AIRS was set up on a small patch of land within the 6006 AISS compound at Oryu-dong, situated between Inchon and Seoul. It consisted of two army Quonset and a small Japanese Shinto shrine that housed radio equipment for sending and receiving messages from American spies in China, Siberia and North Korea.
Figure jm-6006.gif: US AF 6006 AISS compound at Oryu-dong. Note the Quonset and the Japanese Shinto shrine (far left) with antenna poles. Courtesy of John Morgan, who drove a Jeep for Donald Nichols, the legendary commander of 6006/6004 AISS, who reportedly managed Yi Sung Yup, a high-ranking North Korean official.
The 6006 AISS base surrounded by a huge base manned by South Korean Labor Organization, KLO, personnel, officially under the ROK Air Force. Thus in order to get to my work area, I had to pass through the KLO check point, then the 6006 AISS gate and finally the 6006 AIRS gate. Although KLO members and military personnel had living quarters at or near the base area, there were about 20 civilian employees, mostly linguists, who were allowed to commute from Seoul. At the designated time, a GMC truck picked us up at various sites in Seoul. The truck's "passenger" area was completely covered with canvass so that we could not be seen. After work, we were dropped off in a similar manner.
Figure jm-truck.gif: USAF 6006 GMC trucks for commuting Koreans workers from Seoul. They were also used for transporting KLO partisans. Agents were normally transported in ambulances. Courtesy of John Morgan.
There were occasions when I had to work past the normal quitting time and I was dropped off in a Jeep, a welcome reprieve from riding in the back of a truck gasping for fresh air. Riding in a jeep had other benefits, such as getting saluted by American and Korean guards. Apparently, the guards assumed that I was important enough to be driven in a jeep and therefore worthy of some military respect. There were other occasions for riding in an American military jeep. On every Sunday, my American Mormon friends would drove me around in a jeep and since I wore GI fatigues, people mistook me for an officer and saluted me. I got a kick out of it and acknowledged the salutes with a dignified nod, as if I were a general.
On my last ride on a 6006 truck, I told my Korean associates of my imminent journey to America. They envied me and wished me good luck. I promised them I would do my best to help them to America. None of them was happy working for the American spy masters and they were glad to see me go. I had heard many horror stories of those who quit. The Yanks did not take quitters kindly and turned them over to South Korean counter intelligence for interrogation. Any 'red' spot in your background and you were shot.
I walked into the base commander's office and told him that I would not be coming back because I was going to America. The American lieutenant was hopping mad, shouting that I was a communist spy and that I was quitting because I got what I was after! He called in a South Korean CIC officer and asked him to grill me. I explained my American venture and the Korean officer got the picture right away. He vouched for me and I was officially discharged, but not before a kick in the behind. I found out later that I was scheduled to be dropped in North Korea and my trip to America had ruined the lieutenant plan and saved my neck. My Mormon friend, Averd Wilson, saved my life by arranging my trip to America. Had he not done so, I would have sent on a suicide mission in North Korea.
That was the second time I received a kick from a foreign devil. The first was from a Soviet soldier in North Korea. Actually, there was a third kick, from a South Korean soldier, when I was about to step on a land mine during the Battle of Hamhung. I deserved that third kick, which saved my life.
Yskpusan.jpg.
Last day together with my brother at the Pusan Pier.