Korea, 1952. I was jolted from a sound sleep by the shaking of my bunk — it was time to relieve the watch. My ship, the U.S.S. Renville, had dropped anchor just off the coast of North Korea, and the troops had all been put ashore (unopposed). The very last thing I wanted to do was climb out of my warm bunk and go out on deck where the temperature was 10 degrees.
While in boot camp, we had spent only one week on small arms training, and the carbine was one of many weapons crammed into that week. When I relieved the watch and was handed the carbine and ammo-belt, it was only the second time I had ever held a carbine. I knew how to load it and fire, but that was all.
We had received orders while on watch never to load any weapon and fire it until obtaining permission to do so. I thought that was the dumbest order I had ever been given. To get permission, I would have to leave my post and find the officer of the watch. The maximum penalty for leaving one’s post during war is death.
My watch was on the bow near the anchor chain. Some of the ships did have boarders trying to climb aboard via the anchor chain; in most instances, they were civilians trying to steal something that they could sell on the black market for food.
Local connection
• The U.S.S. Renville (APA-227) was built at the Kaiser Shipyard in Vancouver. Its keel was laid down Aug. 19, 1944, as MCV Hull 673, launched Oct. 25, 1944, sponsored by Mrs. Orpha Penderville and commissioned Nov. 15, 1944, with Capt. William W. Ball in command.
The North Koreans had laid mines all along the coast and had been successful at sinking at least five U.S. naval ships. Fifty ships had been hit by shore batteries. Some crewmen had been killed and many wounded. One time, a lookout spotted a floating mine near us. General quarters sounded and all gun mounts were manned and loaded. We commenced firing at the mine and it shortly sank, never exploding. It popped up again and it was determined that we had been firing at a sea turtle (I can only imagine the headache he must have had).
One time when we were at anchor just off shore, some of our crew were going to get a few hours of liberty. I was not one of them, so I hatched a plan to get off the ship for a few hours: our mail was being held inland; somebody was going to have to go pick it up, and the mail clerk was going to need an armed guard to go along. After checking out a carbine and belt of ammo, and using the ship’s Jeep, we set out on our quest.
We drove by a POW camp on our way. It was crammed full of North Korean and Chinese troops. They were a sullen, belligerent, disciplined bunch ready to do battle even though surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards. They cursed us and called us every name you can imagine, all in English, and many gave us the finger. This was the same camp where 10,000 prisoners had been released by the president of South Korea, upsetting the prisoner exchange process that had been going on. Some feel this may have prolonged the war.
I had applied for and been accepted to become a radioman. School was a 20-week course taught in San Diego, which meant I would have to wait until the ship returned stateside. I was not going to get out of my turn working in the galley, peeling spuds, washing pots and pans. I did not like or get along with one of the cooks. I had told him if I ever caught him on liberty anytime, I would clean his clock. His reply was, “Let’s don’t wait, I’ll meet you in No. 3 hold and see who walks out.”
Long story short, we both landed in sick bay in bunks next to each other licking our wounds. A USO troop came aboard to entertain us, and they asked if there were any brave men who were wounded in our sick bay. Needless to say, it was great getting a special visit from some of those cute gals. We never said anything about how we ended up in sick bay, we just took it all in and ate up all their praise. They were making such a fuss I was certain that some officer would come in and pin a Purple Heart on our pillows.
An image I have never been able to forget is the sight of hundreds of boxes neatly lined up awaiting transport to the states. Each one containing the remains of a son or husband of someone back home. Before the Korean War, American soldiers killed in conflicts abroad were buried in overseas cemeteries. The Korean conflict changed that. The military now sees it as a sacred duty to return the remains home.
