Plebe Year - June 1969 to May 1970

Naive?  Unschooled?  Romantically unrealistic, country Buffon, country hick, perhaps a bit innocent in the ways of the world?  Yep, I was all that and more in the worse way.  
I hadn't experienced much of the world.  I read a lot, but mostly escape novels and unrealistic romantic fantasies such as "Kim" and "Treasure Island".  Read the classic poems and such in high school lit classes, but that was just "book learning" and I had nothing in the way of any real-world experience.

I really had little in the way of interpersonal skills since I had been a loner most of my life.  
I didn't know my way around social gatherings, didn't know what to do with female companions much less about how to act on a date since I had not really been on any.  
I didn't know how to treat a bully since I hadn't been bullied after the initial getting acclimated stage when I first arrived. 
I didn't know.  Period.  I was a lost, dumb, nearly innocent, totally naive country bumkin lost in the great big world that had been squeezed into the microcosm of plebe year.

This was also 1969, four years after the signing of the civil rights act.  Before Nixon's "affirmative action" initiatives in the early 70's.  Time of Viet Nam and the expanding war far across the sea.  Time of the Viet Cong and "Charlies".  
It was not a good time to be an Oriental at the bastion of American Maleness.  
Yep, I had stepped into a big, big shithole of a social situation, at least for me.  

Once the brigade came back, there were several firsties in my company who were not happy to have a "Charlie" in their company.  They decided that I had to go.  It was a contest for them to see how many gigs I could get.  I had infinite time infinite "come arounds" and I was constantly braced up, with my chin stuck to the back of my throat.  I did the best I could.  Stayed up late to work on my uniforms, helping my roommates with theirs.  Shining shoes, belt buckles, cold ironing uniforms, cleaning the room and shining the floors.  The first few months were hectic and endless.  
Then, toward Christmas, things began to settle down.  A few of the upperclassmen took pity and backed off.  Several became helpful.  And Christmas break finally came.

I begged a ride to the Baltimore bus terminal and got a Greyhound bus to Danville.  I arrived at the bus terminal with my ditty bag, dressed in my Middie dress uniform and walked home the 10 blocks.  I arrived home, walked in the door, and well, you could hear a pin drop.  Nothing.  Not a hello, not a welcome home.  I took my stuff upstairs to my "bed", the little cot I had slept on.  I changed my clothes and went out for a long walk.  

My dear friend, Dr. Ritmiller had died while I was away at school.  So I lost a mentor.  I took his dog Misty out for a walk.  

And, not much else.  There was little joy in "Mudville" that winter.  And, I got a ride back to the Academy and a better life after the brief respite from Plebe Year.  
January brought the "Dark Ages" when the sun came up late and set early.  The cold winter weather settled in and the harassment slowed a lot.   I had time to study and had above a 3.0 for the first semester.  Overall, I was getting by, but just barely.  
Spring break came and a classmate invited me to come with him to his house on Long Island.  I accepted since there was nothing to go "home" to in Danville.  
I met his beautiful, energetic and vivacious sister.  Remeber that I was a social dunce?  Yeah, that hadn't changed and so even though his sister tried to befriend me, I was clueless and lost.  

Didn't know what to do and how to handle such a beautiful girl.  Oh, what could have been!!!

Soon, the Plebes were "secured", unofficially ending the harassments and come arounds, the late night grillings, unofficial taskings, and whatnots.  Spring came, Herndon monument was climbed, 

thus ending Plebe Year, and the grand graduation sent all the Firsties off to their careers.  We were finally, officially no longer Plebes, but Youngsters now.  
And Youngster cruise awaited us.  

Four Long Years of Shock and Awesome Growth, USNA 1969 - 1973: PLEBE SUMMER

How do we learn about life?  How do we learn enough to be able to successfully navigate and traverse through the daily challenges and obstacles of life?  In most advanced countries there is a "school" system where you learn to read the native language in the elementary, early years and begin to understand the complexities of the native language.  We learn the basics of math too, counting, adding, subtracting, and the complex systems of multiplication and division.  Science may be part of the study, social studies or history, some music, some art or drawing or expression of art, play time or physical education.  Many different systems have been developed with increasing progression bringing increasing complexity and depth of study as the child matures through elementary, goes into the transition in the middle grades and finally, there is supposed to be the preparation for adult years in high school.  I contend that except for the reading and basic math, most of the "education" I received in my 10 years in Danville was wasted, irrelevant, and useless.  



What I needed was to know HOW not the What.  I was never taught to "study" or how to learn efficiently and effectively.  I had to weld together little, tiny pieces of social behavioral rules and constructs from my awkward and inept interactions with my "family" and schoolmates and the community.  It did NOT go well.  

In 1969 when I "graduated" from high school, I was still 17, not officially 18 until September, still without a driver's license, never been kissed, gone on a date, been to any friend's party, had a real girlfriend or significant relationship, or was in any way ready for the REAL world waiting for me.  
I needed to know how to be socially aware and to interact with other "men", "play well with others", how to meet, treat, and interact with members of the opposite sex, how to study efficiently and effectively, how to drive safely, how to buy, sell, and negotiate for anything, how to budget my money especially earning it, saving it, and investing it.  I needed to know about other religions, philosophies, politics and political parties, the war in Viet Nam, the civil rights movement, the sexual revolution, Woodstock, the math and science of the Moon Landing, and above all, how to come to terms with my internal struggles and conflicts and the miasma of religion, beliefs and values that were beginning to brew and boil inside.  
BUT, NO, I was NOT prepared or ready in any way to deal with the Real issues facing a 17-year-old.  



Then throw in a total ecosystem and structural change and BAM, there I was going off to the United States Naval Academy, USNA.
I had several weeks between high school graduation and having to report to USNA.  It was turbulent and difficult few weeks.  The Houck family acted as if they could care less.  They never talked to me about any of the challenges or difficulties.  They seemed to care less.  
They, Mr. and Mrs. Houck, drove me the 3 hours to Annapolis.  I had one old suitcase and a typewriter.  Thank goodness I had taken a typing class. Perhaps the most useful and practical course I ever took in high school.  I still use it today!!! How many high school courses can you use today?  It was not a fond, memory making trip except for the comment by Mr. Houck who stated, "don't know how you'll make it if you can't even stop pissing your pants", referring to the very early days of my arrival in Danville, when, due to the one bathroom for 7 people, I wet myself several times... this because I was not allowed to relieve myself outside like I had been used to doing in Korea.  Yep, just more old acid and vinegar on some sad memories rather than any encouragement and pep talks.  No Sir, that's not the Houck way!  



Most parents I noticed then and even today will drop off their son or daughter and wait for the Induction Ceremony later in the day after the new "mid" has been instructed on the very basics and been transitioned into the plebe uniform.  Not the Houck's.  Dropped me off and did not see or hear from them until I found a way to get home on winter break in December, six months later.  Never a visit, or phone call, or letter, or care package.  Oh sure, there were others who had similar issues, but not many, not in my company.  It was a cold, cold separation, no hugs for goodbyes, or good luck or prayers or any encouragement.  Just drop off the package and off they went.  So, what's new?  

This would continue to be one of the underlying cancers in my life.  This caustic, cold, careening interpersonal dysfunction between the Houck's and me.  Even after all these years, nearly 60 years, it continues to gnaw and grind and grate.  I am trying to get to forgiveness, but it is a very difficult process of peeling away and abrading the layers of hate, revile, disgust, disappointments, and disasters.  The years have slowly built up a thick callous of "don't care anymore" but that's not really true.  We are always our parents' child and our inner child never really moves away from the need for love, positivity, encouragements and assurances, support and positive presence.  We may outgrow the need for guidance as we mature but we never outgrow the innate need for parental love.  
I had it with my true Appa in the early years.  I think that's what truly got me through life, his love, his caring, his protection, his teachings.  




So, alone, with my two things, I go to the check in place and face a wall of strangers who seem to be totally pissed off to see me.  



The loud commands, the shouting, the orders and incessant directions to do this and that.  Total chaos and confusion in my mind.  The "fight or flight" reaction came to the top which created panic and extreme distress, exactly what this induction process was supposed to do. 



The first day, the first week is to separate you from your prior life into being a plebe, a nothing, a total newbie in a new ecosystem that combined a university with a military boot camp. 





You drop off your things, line up, wait, line up and wait for a haircut, actually a near shave, so-called buzz cut with about a quarter inch of hair on top, gear issue, room assignment, new roommates, chaos, yelling, running, and a short break for lunch, then more running, yelling and a tsunami of instructions and details that you're supposed to know yesterday.  
Magically it all comes together by late afternoon, you're in your new uniform, and you line up for the induction ceremony when you take the Oath of Office as a Midshipman in the United States Navy.  



You get a few moments to meet with your parents before they return to the real world and you go back to being a plebe!



Then the real plebe summer begins:






One day melts into the next, you're so busy that first week that time seems to stop.  5 o'clock reveille, physical training on Farragut Field with Heinz Lenz, learning to march in formation, wearing all the different uniform items, shoe shining, buckle polishing, room inspections, and more marching, drilling, running, and yelling.  



Very soon a few people left, dropping out rather than take "all that bullshit".  That's one of the main purposes for this chaos and constant intimidation.  
Soon, the summer program, Plebe Summer, was coming to a close the everyone was told to be ready for the "return of the brigade"!  

That's when all the other students, Middies, the "Youngsters" who were now sophomores, who had just finished their Plebe Year, the Second Class, the Juniors returning from a month's vacation and a month of summer training, and the dreaded "Firsties", the seniors who had gone through their summer training of visiting the four main branches of the Naval Service - Aviation in Pensacola, Marines in Quantico, Surface ships in Norfolk or other major Naval Base, Submarines at several submarine babes such as Groton or Kings Bay.  The Firsties would be making their service selection at the end of the first semester where they would choose which branch they would serve their 5-year obligation.  
For us, that was an eternity away because right now we had to survive the onslaught of questions, demands, and tasks that were constantly given to the "plebes" by mostly the firsties and second classmen.  The youngsters were normally not involved but would sometimes be helpful to some plebes.  Yeah, the "Brigade's return" was going to be "fun"!  


























  

Danville December, 1958 - June, 1969

Danville is a nice, small rural community along the Susquehanna River, about three-quarters of the way up the eastern branch from Harrisburg to Scranton, the nearest two large cities.  In 1958 it was mostly a prosperous community of around 8,000 people.  There was the Geisinger Hospital, the Merck penicillin plant, and later the Kennedy Van Sohn and TRW plants.  It was prosperous with a mostly Caucasian population.  The prototypical white, a middle class small rural town in Pennsylvania.

The Houck family consisted of Mr. William Houck, born in Berwick, two towns up the river.  He grew up in a well to do family, his father had been the Superintendent of Berwick schools.  He grew up in the Great Depression but did not know all of the hardships due to his father's position.  From the few things he related, it seems had a "wild" youth with a motorcycle and cigarettes and such.  Then "The Great War", WW II came and he enlisted.  He served from the African landing, through Sicily, the Italian campaign, and then with Patton's army up through the middle of Europe and into Germany.  These years totally changed him.  He came home, attended Penn State, met and married Elnora Unger.  He served time as an Agriculture agent, then a prison guard, and finally became a teacher.  He was teaching at the Milton High School, a town about 20 miles away from Danville when I came to Danville.
Mrs. Elnora Unger Houck was a unique person.  She was born one of 19 children on a small subsistence farm about 12 miles from Danville.  Most of her siblings did not reach adulthood due to lack of money, medical care and other ills of the Great Depression.  She told of wearing clothes made of potatoes sacks and walking all the way to town with her brothers and sisters to go to school.  She had lost most of her hearing due to a disease, (rubella?) when she was a young child.  So, she had this terrible handicap, but she was very smart and hardworking.  She would get a scholarship to attend Bloomsburg College and became a teacher.  She once worked at a small one room school that had grades 1 through 8 and she had to teach all of them!  Needless to say, she had had a very tough and challenging life.
They were both of Germanic background.  Strict, cold, harsh, noncommunicative,  stern, quiet, and very religious.  The family attended the First Baptist Church several blocks down the streets.  This was to prove to be my saving "grace" in more ways than one!
They did not hug, praise, discuss anything at the table, or seem to have any intimacy with each other.  Oh boy, this was going to be hard.

Susan was two years older than me, in the 3rd grade and Donald was 5 years ahead, in the 5th grade when I arrived in December 1958.
They lived on a large corner lot at the corner of Water Street and Cedar Street.  It was about a quarter acre and most of the land was a very large garden that Mr. Houck maintained with great expertise and knowledge.  We always had fresh vegetables in the spring and summer and fall.
Then there was Tabby, a beautiful calico cat that lived under the porch.  She was not allowed into the house but kept the mice in fear around the garden!  Tabby became my one true friend, confidant, and counselor!

Needless to say, the first years were chaotic and trouble-filled.  I was a wild child, with no discipline, no education to speak of, no cultural understanding of either regular Korean society or, certainly not, this new American culture and this strict, harsh, cold family.   The mixing did not go too well.  I wanted and was desperately in need of hugs, nurturing, affirmations, help, guidance, and instruction.  What I got was the Germanic coldness, the quiet, the do it yourself attitude, and high expectations form behavior which was not enunciated or clear.  I was expected to fit in and did not.  I was expected to be quiet, obedient, and do what I was supposed to.  Except, I didn't know - what the expectations were, what my role was supposed to be, and how I was to act, talk, and behave.  I learned as quickly as I could.
But there were several visits to the woodshed, literally.  The house was heated by a giant wood burning stove that brought heated air from the furnace in the basement through a hole in the middle of the living room floor.  In later years Mr. Houck personally installed a coal-fired, hot water heating system.  He was a very skilled handyman and craftsman.  But, near the furnace was a large woodpile, so indeed, I was taken down there several times to visit the woodshed.
Once, in total frustration and anger, I began to yell at Mrs. Houck in Korean.  I vented my frustration and loss and desires.  I wanted to be accepted, loved, hugged and affirmed that I was a member of the family, not just a house boy who did all the chores, washed the dishes, cleaned and waxed the kitchen floor, dusted the house and worked in the garden.  I did not see their children do these things!

It turned out to be a big moment.  When Mr. Houck came home, he took me to the woodshed and beat the heck out of my bottom with a big piece of wood.  My bottom was bloody for several days.  He clearly stated that "if you ever speak Korean again, you are going back to Korea and the orphanage"!  This was a seminal moment.  I made a decision then to never ever to speak Korean or even to think in Korean.  I decided that I did not want to go back to the orphanage and the hunger, the pains, and the horrors of being an orphan.  This would come back to haunt me much later as the psychological block would strongly block my attempts to relearn the Korean language.
And life went on.

I learned the language as quickly as I could.  At this time Mrs. Houck nephew Carl was living at home with us in the spare room downstairs while he was finishing his teaching degree at Bloomsburg University.  He became my tutor and mentor and spent much time teaching me to read.  I would say his gentleness and kindness was a very strong influence on my life at that time.  I learned to love to read and I read voraciously.  When I did get my library card, I became a library lizard and spent hours and hours in the library, reading anything and everything.  I loved the science books and the novels of adventure like "Treasure Island", "Kim", and Ryurd Kipling became my favorite author for a while.

Schooling began in January 1959.  I went to school with Susan.  We walked to school, me for the first time in my life to a formal school.  I had new clothes which were itchy, a new pair of shoes that hurt and pinched, and new companions whom I did not understand, nor could they understand me.  I was totally lost!  The rest of first grade was a blur.  I learned to read and count and do math mostly at home with Carl.  I do not have fond memories of my first-grade teacher because of the way she made me feel unwelcome and unwanted in her class.
My second-grade teacher was Miss Barber and I do remember her kindness and gentleness.  Third grade was a blur, and then things came to a head in 4th grade.  I was making many transitions and adjustments.  This was my fourth year in America and I thought I was making good adjustments.  But, I was, in modern terms, ADHD and had difficulty sitting still, concentrating, and so on.  Also, there were still several mean classmates and they exercised their options to bully and exclude me.  So, one day I totally lost it and yelled out in class, threw things in frustration.  My wonderful teacher, Mrs. Cohen called for help from Mrs. Eifert, the 5th-grade teacher, and Mr. Long, the 6th-grade teacher, and the school principal.  They got me settled, calmed and then began the remediation and help phase.  These three wonderful people saved my academic career.  They could have thrown me away and sent me home, but they took time to counsel and help me.  I am so ever thankful for these three Angels!

I was naturalized in fourth grade and it was a big event at school.  Again, I appeared in the news as an orphan who became an American.  This was a very important step and would be crucial in a few years. 

Middle school years were full of the usual "coming of age" angst and frustrations and questions.  Mine was a bit more complicated with the fact that I excelled in school work, but sucked horribly at the social part.  I had no friends, I did not have a core support group, and was mostly a loner.  Guess these years defined who I was to become. 
High school was not much better.  I continued to deliver the Danville News after school until the 10 grade when I got a job at Weis Markets. 
No dates, no social hours, no visits to friends houses, if I would have had friends!  Just me. 
Then in the 12th-grade life took some big turns.  I was accepted to the Naval Academy, which in 1969 was a very big honor.  Once I obtained my admission to this prestigious school, I asked my "parens" for permission to get my driver's license.  To non-Jewish males, turning 16 and getting your license is definitely one of the big "coming of age" moments.  I was now 17 and waited until after the USNA admission was confirmed. 

They said, "NO, we don't trust you"!!!
Really?  The Danville News carrier of the year, Employee of the Month several times at Weis, Young Citizen of the Year, President of the Honor Society, of the Engineering Society, appointment and admission to the Naval Academy, near the top of my class, and never, ever been in any trouble at school or in town.  Now I get this "we don't trust you!"!!!??
WTF!!!!! 

So, I began my rebellion.  I began my growth and changes into young adulthood.
 I studied even less.  Even got my first C ever in school. 
I was invited out with my soon to be lifelong friend Barry Karchner and others in their small group.  We would get into Barry's car, pool our resources and go to a nearby town and get a case of beer.  Then we went to this nice quiet place by a creek and drank and talked.  First several times I got drunk quickly and fell asleep.  I was not a good drinker!!!

I also met a very cute young lady.  I didn't drive, remember?  So, I would walk to her house and she and her family would invite me inside and we spent the evening playing card and board games and such.  We "dated" this way for a while.  She was a year older and was attending Bloomsburg University.  But, once I went away to USNA, the relationship quickly cooled and was done. 

So, graduation came in May 1969.  I was on the main stage with the honor students.  I was given the certificate for admission to the Naval Academy.  Several of the parents were more proud of me than even Mr. and Mrs. Houck seem to be that night. 
And soon, after a short break, I was on my way to the United States Naval Academy.
Another chapter, another set of stories!

Camp Casey and Miss Julia

Life changes constantly.  We learn this as we grow and we see all the changes as we grow up.

But, as a little, lost child living in a surreal environment that was never supposed to be, living a make believe life as a pretend soldier in a pretend world, change is not something you expect.  Especially when life seems so grand and wonderful.  

You get to eat all you want, which is totally opposite of what's really happening in Korean society in the mid 50's.  

Horrid atrocities by the north Koreans

Evacuation to safety

It was a time of horrible hunger and famine among most of the people.  The soldiers fought with the armies going up and down the Korean peninsula over the three years of the Korean War.  Millions of the Korean peoples, the common peasants who never did have it very good even in the best of times were now displaced and trying to find ways to survive.  There was no real governmental systems or services until the later part of 1953, and it would take a few more years until the Korean government began to govern through out the South Korean nation.  The Korean War Armistice brought a stalemated cease fire to the peninsula, but not a peace, so technically the war is still going on, with no peace treaty.  It would not be "another Korean War" if hostilities restarted, it would just be a continuation of "the War".  

Evacuation and mass exodus to safety

So, there I was, a little lost boy living a fantasy life in Camp Casey as a "little soldier".  I got treated very well, with Corporal Hernandez acting very much like a loving, caring "Appa Hernandez".  I would get toys on payday.  I was taken to the USO for doughnuts and to play games with other mascots.  I got to run around the camp with little discipline or restrictions.  I got to know about the "PX" and the magic of all the toys, the Mess Hall where there was unlimited food.  Yes, life was good.

At the USO, I got to meet Miss Julia.  Julia Allison was one of the USO representative ladies who helped the soldiers meet there needs for a touch of America and "home".  She was totally beautiful, nice, and so kind to all of us mascots.  She made sure we had our share of doughnuts.  She stated later on when we were to meet again while I was attending the U.S. Naval Academy years later that she knew I was different.  I one of the few mascots who made sure all soldiers had something to eat, that I was always friendly and had a smile for everyone.  She even tried to teach me some nice English words other than the foul language the soldiers were teaching the mascots.  

With time, the 7th I.D. was transferred back home and the 2nd I.D. came in.  This meant that my "Appa Hernandez" was going home.  He could not take me with him, although he said he tried.  I bitterly remember my heart break as I watched him load onto the train and I was again left alone on that train platform in Tong Du Chong.  Once again I was alone.  But, this time I had a resource.  I went back to Miss Julia.  

The new Division commander mandated that all mascots had to go off the camp and so they opened some orphanages for these orphans.  Miss Julia took me to one, the one that had been opened by Mr. Harry Holt in Il San, near Camp Casey.  I believed and thought that Miss Julia was taking me with her to go to her home.  When she dropped me off, well, once again heart break.  She said she would come back, but by now I was skeptical.  

I tried to adjust to the new orphanage life.  I was many, perhaps over a hundred of us of various ages.  I remember Mr. Holt driving the big bulldozer as he was preparing ground for a new building.  I got to eat my first peanut butter and jelly sandwich, along with a glass of evaporated milk for a meal.  It remains one of my favorite foods to this day, a go to comfort food.  

Time passed and I was taken to a hospital to be checked, pictures were taken, and soon they told me that I was going to "Mi Guk", to America to be with my new family.  I was doubtful that my Appa had gone to America, but I behaved and listened. 

December 28th, 1958 I arrived in Newark Airport, New Jersey and walked off the airplane, down the stairs and my new parents, Mr. William Houck and Mrs. Elnora Houck were waiting for me.  

I don't remember any smiles, just took my hand after checking my baggage tag on my arm, and led me to the car, a 1952 Chevy.  It was just like the one that Miss Julia took me to the orphanage, so I thought, "oh, I'm going back to the orphanage".  I fell asleep in the back of the car.

My first car ride, the 1952 Chevy!

When I awoke, I was at my new Uncle Dick, the brother of Mrs. Houck, and Aunt Drussie's home somewhere in the Philadelphia area.  They had a big dinner with potatoes, mashed potatoes, lots of meat and bread and vegetables and more.  I loved the mashed potatoes and ate and ate.  As an orphan, you never know when your next meal will be!  

Don't remember much but soon we were at "home" at 401 Water Street, Danville, PA 17821!  

My new sister, Susan, and my new brother, Donald, both of whom were older than me, Susan two years older and Donald was 5 years older, were there to greet me.  The Danville News ran a little piece about how the Houck's had adopted a Korean orphan, and showed a very happy little James Charles Houck, my given American name, with his new sister and brother.

Mrs. Elnora Houck in her later years

I wish I could say these were happy times.  I wish.  But, these were tough, awful times.

I didn't know the rules, customs, culture.  I was the oldest child 

who had been adopted at the time.  The United States had some very restrictive laws making it very difficult to adopt children over 10 years of age in the 1950's.  Because of these laws, Holt Adoption Agency had me as a 7 year old.  I believe I am at least 2, perhaps 3 years older.  Oh sure, I looked small and tiny, maybe even younger than 7.  This was due to 2-3 years of surviving on the streets of post war Korea with little food, no care, and certainly no nurturing of any parent or family.  So, in 1958, "they" said I was 7 and came to America as a 7 year old. 

However, if this was true, then I would have been 4, at most 5 when I became separated from my Appa in Busan.  Considering the circumstances and the post war environment of Korea and Seoul, a 4 year old would have not been able to survive the deprivation, hunger, abuse, the slavery, the forced labor, the 3 harsh winters with the cold and hunger.  No way in my mind.  Yes, 3 harsh, cold, hunger filled winters, two as a slave to older kids where I was just property that belonged to my "hyun", an older "brother" who used and abused me in the most horrid ways.  I have four scars on my head where he put out four cigarettes to mark and brand me as his property.  One does not forget such atrocity or hardship or hunger.

So, here I was a 10 year old in a 7 year old body, having to learn a new way of life with new home, new family with their strict Baptist rules, new country, new language, new customs, new culture and new cultural ways of behaviors, new everything.  

These were indeed some of the "worse of times".  

I even thought of running away, but I did not want to go through the horrors of hunger and deprivation again.  I did not want to suffer anymore.  Yes, hunger me kept there.  

So, each night as I lay down on the floor, since I was used to sleeping on the floor in Korea, I would not get into my "bed" for awhile, that little camp cot they gave me was my "bed" until I left in 1969 for the United States Naval Academy,  I was totally "homesick" and alone in the worse way.

I cried in my loneliness, loss, and pains.  I cried for my Appa to find me.  I cried for my Korean food, for the warmth of my Appa's arms.  I cried in my little shell and dreamed of the day that I would be free.  

Just remembering! Notes for my children:

Everyone has a start and an ending.  On a gravestone there normally is a birth year and an end date, the day of death and final rest.  
Some wise person said that it's what you fill in between, what does that dash hold, that really counts.  Look back over history, think about your favorite or not favorite persons in history and what do you know about that person?  Usually, you remember their accomplishments that somehow affected human history.  Some did great positive things and others, well, not so positive things.  But, most are remembered for their effect and influence on human society.

I will not be one of those, nor do I claim or regret such a condition.  Look up yourself on "google" and see what you find.  Me... well, nada.  And, that's ok, really good in fact.  Wouldn't want to be known for something awful, and I certainly did not focus enough to do or accomplish anything phenomenal. 

So, in view of the fact that I am "nothing" and have accomplished really nothing of any significance except to live a decent life, so that I will have had my say on myself,  I'm going to write a mini-bio for the record with some personal thoughts and other musings as we go along.

I doubt there are many people who remember their births and infant years.  Oh, I know, there are the regressors and such groups who "claim" to be able to regress and go back, even to past lives.  But, overall, there are not that many.  What was your earliest memory?  What do you think were your first memories? 

For me, it was the memory of Appa coming into a dark place with some blood soup.  I remember eating it with great delight and satisfaction.  The taste is still on my tongue and I crave that taste often.  
The next memory is traveling with Appa on a train, with lots and lots of people.  It was crowded, chaotic, noisy, scary.  I hold to the memory of Appa holding me next to his chest and our making our way through the throngs.  Were we evacuating, escaping, running from the war?  I don't know.  I was torn between being warmed by Appa and being scared of the crowds and noise.  
Next memory is stopping by some place and meeting with some people.  After that, there was a strange woman with us as we traveled on the trains.
We arrived at a large city and I remember us taking a three-wheeled vehicle to our new home.  



The home was tiny for the three of us.  Just one room that I remember.  It was on a crowded hill.  From the hill, you could see the harbor and the streets of the city.  This city was Pusan, now Busan.  
Our home was situated on a small street along with many, many other small, tiny houses.  There was no bathroom or running water.  Outside the door was a small tree.  If you went out on the street and went downhill you come to a big road.  Near the road was a cemetery where we children used to play.  I fell once while playing in the cemetery and cut my face between my eyes and I still have a small scar there after all these years.  
If you went up the hill on the street by the house you came to the communal outhouse.  There was also some kind of temple nearby because you could hear the bell toll every now and then.  

After a bit of time, my stepmother gave birth to a baby girl.  Overall, my stepmother treated me decently until the baby girl was born.  Then she began to be mean and more strict with me.  A few years passed because I remember my step sister now walking and I had to watch over her.  We were too poor and I didn't go to a school of any kind.  I had to babysit her a lot.  
Now and then I would explore my neighborhood.  My curiosity kept me going further and further from my house.  I always found my way back home.  I even got to the Pusan train station one day.  On the map, that is quite a distance for a little boy of 5 or 6. 

One day I was babysitting my sister and she was dawdling so I pinched her hard.  She cried and told her mother when we got home.  Boy, did I get a beating!  When my Appa came home, for the first time I remember, he too beat me for hurting my sister.  
The next day I took off to see the city, angry and frustrated at my Appa.  He had never before hit me.  
I found my way to the train station.  I sneaked on board a train because other kids told me that you could find money and food on the floor of the train. Well, they were right!  I found some small money and lots of food on the train.  These were left over "bento" boxes and other snacks that I could grab before the adjumas would come to clean the trains.  
I ate as much as I wanted.  The train was warm and I fell asleep under one of the seats.




I woke up and didn't know where I was.  I was totally scared.  I cried for help, but there were too many of us lost children.  So many orphans and abandoned children then!
I remember that night in the small train station, scared, hungry, and lonely.  Next day I sneaked onto another train, not knowing the rules or destinations.  I was thinking that it might take me home.  
Instead, it ended up taking me north to Seoul.  Fortunately, I had found food and drinks on the train.  But, here I was, alone in Seoul, at the train station, totally lost and unable to find my way back home.  No one was interested in helping me.  Just too many children running about, too many leftover children who were either true orphans or had been abandoned by families who could no longer take care of them.
I learned to survive in the train station.  I learned to beg, steal, to run from the police and others.  I was one of the street children, lost and just barely surviving.  

There were little gangs of kids.  They were usually led by older kids, teenagers, who would organize the activities and collectively distribute food.  I was grabbed and inducted into one of them.  My "Hyun", an older brother, put out four cigarettes on my head.  I still have the scars.  This was to initiate me into the gang and also to mark me as "His" property.  It was not a pleasant time.  I had to steal or beg or get my quota of either food or money each day.  If I did, I got to eat.  If I didn't, then I was beaten and did not eat for the day. 
If I tried to sneak in a meal by myself and was found out, I was ruthlessly beaten.  And, worst of all, if I tried to leave the group, to run away, I was beaten to a pulp.  One time I almost made it to the train but was caught.  The older boys beat me senseless, cut my underarms, and threw me onto a dump to die!  Somehow, someway, I survived the beating and torture and came to.  Then I made it to a train and got on.

This train continued my journey north.  I came to a small town, which turned out to be Dong Du Chong, home of Camp Casey and the 7th Infantry Division of the U. S. Army.  



It was winter, I was cold since I barely had any clothes on, and hungry beyond hungry.  I went around the small village begging for food, but no one answered or helped.  I finally found my way back to the train tracks and climbed into a boxcar which kept me out of the wind but offered no warmth.  In a corner, there was a piece of cardboard.  I used that for a blanket and lied down on the floor.  
I began to dream of my Appa picking me up and hugging me.  I felt finally warm and not hungry.  

When I awoke, I was warm, under something that was heavy but nice, bright lights shining, and so, without really knowing anything about heaven, I was in heaven!  Some strange looking peoples came and started talking to me in a language that I did not understand.  But, they brought me FOOD!  Delicious, warm, delicious, totally delectable food.  And, then seconds!  They offered a drink which I never had had but was delicious - milk!  And, so I was saved!

After I recovered, the soldier who had found me in the boxcar, Corporal Hernandez, came and took me to his company area.  I became the company mascot, "Charlie" was my name, and I was as happy as any 8-9-year-old boy could be.  I was not alone!  There were many, many other "mascots" in Camp Casey.  I had my own uniform, boots, and a small cot to sleep in.  Life was good!  We were not sent to any schools, so I didn't know how to read or write or any other skills.  I was just a wild child in a wild environment.  

Overall, life was good.  
But, as always, things were about to change.