Remembering the wars

      Most veterans, if asked, will recount war stories. Often the stories are not about the daily horror of battle, but about some bright moment in an otherwise dark past. On Memorial Day, Monday, May 28, it is only fitting that we should listen to a few stories, and remind ourselves of the sacrifices made in the name of freedom.

An island in the storm

      As a gunner's mate aboard the U.S. Navy's heavy cruiser the USS St. Paul, Daniel Brandi saw his share of the Korean conflict losing 39 shipmates killed in action. He served three tours of duty from 1950 to 1953 and is a member of the Chosin Few, survivors of the battle at the Chosin reservoir in Northern Korea. But the story he tells is an excerpt from the larger war, one small battle fought with pounds of rice, powdered milk and government issue Navy blankets.
      In January, 1951, the St. Paul was involved with other units of the fleet in the bombardment of Inchon. In the harbor on a small, rocky island called Fusshi-To was a non-working lighthouse that the Navy wanted to rehabilitate and use as a navigational point. Crew
members approached the island in a whaleboat, intending only to repair the light, but were greeted on the shore by 45 Korean children, all under the age of 14.
      These orphans, with their three adult guardians, had been left behind on the barren rock to fend for themselves in the midst
of the battle.
      An inspection of the orphanage revealed it to be cold and bare, with broken windows and unsanitary conditions. The youngsters huddled together for warmth, their clothing in tatters. They had been living for days on a spoonful of rice each. Many were sick and all were hungry.
      When the crew returned to the ship and told their comrades about the condition of the children, the response from the sailors was immediate. They brought in spare clothing, soap and money. The Navy also supplied 100 pounds of rice, which along with the other supplies and a Navy Doctor were sent to the island the following day.
      The crew took personal interest in the orphans on Fusshi-To, Brandi said. They cut down their uniforms to supply the little ones with warm clothing. They worked on rehabilitating structures and helped in the kitchen where one crew member found unused containers of powdered milk.
      The Koreans had not figured out what to do with such stuff. They had tried sprinkling it over rice, but it was not tasty. They had decided maybe it was some sort of soap.
      For the duration of the battle, the crew kept a parental eye on the orphans of Fusshi-To. Toys and clothing were sent from the states for the children. Donated money was used to buy vegetable seeds for them to plant on the island so they would continue to have food after the St. Paul was gone.
      Brandi was directly involved with the construction of shelter and repairing the living spaces for these children. "I am sure many acts like this have gone unnoticed as is evident in the articles printed in the media," he said. "This was just one instance in which American service personnel went above and beyond the call of duty. We cared. A nice end to the story would be if we could spread the word of this incident around and maybe find some of these orphans. That would be great."

A sole survivor

      Today, many have come to think of a survivor as someone featured on a television program, filmed in some remote but picturesque location, who is a winner at bizarre competitions and popularity contests. During World War II in the China/Burma theater, being a survivor was much more serious. No camera crew recorded the significant moments. There were no rules, no voting, no rational reason for one man to live and another to die, and the only prize was going home with your life in tact. Despite the terrible conditions, many young men from all over the world volunteered to participate, including Rockville Centre's own Reverend Harald Kuehne, Pastor Emeritus at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church.
      After joining the Army Air Corps, Kuehne found himself assigned to the Third Combat Cargo Squadron, flying a resupply run between Mandalay and Rangoon. They brought food, ammunition and tank fuel to the British forces fighting the Japanese in Central Burma. On regular runs in a C47, a large cargo plane without real defense capability, the crew would fly at tree-top level and land at make-shift airfields cleared in the jungle, or drop supplies by parachute at sites marked by large initials on the ground when no landing strip was available.
      The American plane crew consisted of a four-man flight crew and one man stationed in the rear of the plane whose job it was to distribute supplies. At his post in this aft position, Kuehne was in charge of seeing that the correct supplies got to the correct location. When parachute drops were called for, he would sit next to the cargo opening behind the supplies, pushing them into the air with his legs. At airfields, his job was to see that supplies were properly unloaded.
      Food and ammunition were important cargo, but the most dangerous freight was the gasoline, or petrol used for powering the British tanks. With the Japanese in the area, Kuehne knew they were riding with highly flammable bombs, which could be set off by enemy air fire or missiles. At one airfield, he remembers getting down safely and being greeted by a Tommie, which is what the regular British fighting men were called. The soldier came out to the plane dressed only in a pair of shorts because of the heat and calmly offered Kuehne a cup of tea.
      With the Japanese throwing mortal shells at them, Kuehne could hardly relax, however, knowing he was sitting of hundreds of gallons of petrol.
      At first, American resupply planes flew over the jungle without air cover. Eventually the cargo planes were escorted by British Hurricanes, a little fighter plane, capable of responding to enemy fire. But planes still went down due to attack, mechanical failure or pilot error. When Kuehne's plane crashed during a landing, the forward crew were all killed, leaving Kuehne the sole survivor in the rear of the plane. He managed to escape without serious injury, but due to the battering he took, spent the night in the base hospital.
      The loss of the crew was tough for Kuehne. "The first crew that you lose, that hits home," he said. "You come over from the states with them and they're like family."
      Kuehne also tells the story of Bobby Hoffman, a tough-luck guy who couldn't get a break. If something went wrong, it went wrong for him. "We had landed at a small airstrip. I could sense trouble was around. Bobby was behind us in another plane and a Japanese light bomber attacked. Bobby caught a bullet in the back. When they landed, they put Bobby in my arms and he died. That was the worst. You never get over it, but you get used to it."
      In World War II, combatants were rotated through theaters of operations according to a schedule. In Europe, after 30 months on duty, soldiers went back to the states. In the South Pacific, the rotation was only 24 months, and the India/Burma theater, the stay was only 18 months. Kuehne went on to fly for two years earning several ribbons and medals, including the Air Medal for flying over 25 missions and the Bronze Star, which he claims he got
just for doing his job.
      Kuehne admits the most frightening thing about the war was afterward, coming home to Rego Park with no job, no schooling and no idea what he would do next.
      "That's why I say the Army took four years out of my life."       Thanks to the G.I. Bill, Kuehne was able to attend Wagner College on Staten Island where he met his wife Britta, who helped support him through to his divinity degree. "The biggest thanks I got was 45 months of higher education paid for by the G.I Bill," he said. "I guess we don't need a monument in Washington, D.C., to the veterans of World War II."

Not like on television

      In 1951, Rockville Centre resident Jim Lamb was a Marine wounded in action and spent a week in a M.A.S.H unit in Korea. He said it was nothing like the television series.
      "There was nothing fun about it," he said. Recovering sufficiently to be evacuated to the Hope, a hospital ship in Puson Harbor, he was later transferred to a Danish hospital ship the Jutlandia. It was there during his recuperation that he wrote the poem "The Price of Hills" before returning to action.
      Lamb came to the Marines by way of the Army. In World War II, he was a member of the infantry known as the Mars Task Force, active in the China/Burma/India theater. After a brief stint as a civilian, he chose to rejoin the armed services during the Korean police action. When the Army recruiting representative had a problem with his paperwork, Lamb walked to the next
table and joined the Marines instead. That is how Marine Sgt. Lamb came to be stationed at the Punch Bowl, a valley surrounded by a series of hills in Korea, in November of 1951. It was after the extraction of United Nations forces from the north and during the talks that would eventually divide Korea into two separate entities, as it remains to this day. But the fighting was fierce and casualties
were taken by the American forces of which Lamb was part. "They say you get used to it, but you don't," he said about comrades being killed. "You don't get used to the calls for a corpsman. You don't get used to seeing your buddies die. I didn't even like to see the enemy die."
      Lamb's favorite war stories revolve around the Danish nurses on the Jutlandia. He recalls one in particular, a young Danish girl who called herself a witch and used to smuggle Aquavit to the patients. They were caught celebrating the Winter Solstice in 1952 draining a bottle of schnapps when the head nurse came in. In January of 1952, Lamb rejoined his unit and fought until September 1952, when he was discharged from the Marines.


The Price of Hills
Korea 1951
by Jim Lamb

Rights are not procured by mere inheritance,
Established by it but not procured,
For such a sweet celestial thing as freedom
Cannot so cheaply be insured.

For things held dear the action must be bold,
Fought for with a savage fury
As would a wounded tigress
To protect her precious fold.

The records of ages show it
More recently on our continent
where men had come together of a mind,
Expressed themselves much to their betterment
And broke oppressive chains that once did bind.

The battle lists are long, the heartbreak longer still:
Names of little places where lines of fury intertwine,
Endless dreary suffering days and nights
Recorded by the crimson quill of time.

And here today the paddy fields are cold
For liberty's again at stake and men will die.
Korean snow may blanket earth, but never deeds.
For Freedom is a hill - the price of hills is high.