Mon, 26 Jun 2006 22:43:00
Local Korean Veteran’s Story Published In Marine Magazine
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Editor’s Note: The following story contains some graphic descriptions of war.
Glynn Ellis was surprised to find the story he wrote more than 50 years ago had been published in The Old Breed News, the official publication of the First Marine Division Association, Incorporated.
Ellis said the publication is published every two months and sent out to more than 13,000 subscribers.
His story, “One Day in North Korea,” appeared at the top of the May/June 2006 issue of the magazine.
Ellis served the United States Marine Corp in 1951 and 1952.
“A year ago I sent it (the story) in because I was encouraged to do so by Dorothy Barnes (Van Zandt County Veterans Service Office volunteer),” Ellis explained.
He said, “I got chills when I saw it (the story in the magazine).”
Ellis said he has been receiving telephone calls from all over the United States since the publication was sent out.
The following is Ellis’ story:
“One Day in North Korea”
November 1, 1951—We were 43 miles above the 38th Parallel, 16 miles west of the Sea of Japan. I was assigned to Howe Battery, 3rd Battalion, 11th Marines, 1st Marine Division.
5:55 a.m.—Sergeant Fairhurst and I replaced Cpl. Robert Dierdorf and Cpl, Donald Gaulke for the 3 a.m. to 6 a.m. shift. We were artillerymen. All artillerymen in the USMC had been former infantrymen. The artillery’s job was to protect the infantry in attack and defense, rain or shine, 24 hours a day. All six 105 howitzers per battery were ready to fight every minute-day and night.
6:00 a.m.—A Marine helicopter came to take our Gunnery Sergeant, Staff Sgt. Rupert Wilson, home because of an emergency in his family back in Dallas, Texas.
8:00 a.m.—The sun was peeping over the mountain that once had trees and vegetation, but was now scalded from bombs, artillery shells and big guns from ships.
As I gazed at the sun on this brisk cool morning, I was wondering if my mother and father could see the sun at the same time. In my mind, I was scanning through our family of uncles, aunts, cousins, neighbors, loved ones and friends, when four American Marine Corsairs popped over the mountaintop.
Three of the planes veered off to the left. However, one of them banked to the right toward the front line, then toward the ocean. Not realizing something bad was about to happen, I turned casually toward the mountaintop and continued viewing the sparkling sun. Suddenly, the same American Marine Corsair popped over the mountain and started shooting rockets and machine guns at us. He blew up an oil storage section and peppered us with 50 caliber machine guns bullets. Two men were killed and one man’s leg was cut off.
Our 50 caliber anti-aircraft machine gun had the Corsair in his sights. However, our gunner knew the Corsair was our plane and did not shoot him down. We never really found out why this happened. We assumed that the pilot was afraid and got confused. We were told that this was his first mission and that he was shot down later that day by the Chinese.
We had set the machine gun up to knock out a small Chinese plane that would fly just above the tree tops until he found an artillery unit. Then, he would throw dynamite on the guns and men. We had a surprise waiting for him, but he never came our way.
9:00 a.m.—The next crew had just relieved Sgt. Fairhurst and me when an artillery fight broke out with the Chinese.
My boot camp friend, Cpl. Lopez, was in George Battery across the road from us. Lopez was talking to a friend of his with his arm on the friend’s shoulder when the first Chinese artillery came in. It hit near them. Shrapnel cut Lopez’s friend’s head off, but left Lopez untouched.
The fight lasted eight hours, until 5:00 p.m. H-3-11 had two casualties; gun four and six had living quarters blown up, along with other damage. Sgt. Fairhurst and I were due to go back on the gun at 3:00 p.m.
2:50 p.m.—Those of us who were not on duty were in a bunker that we had built for such a situation. As we lay in the bunker, with the artillery sounding in the distance, Sgt. Boyles and I had a friendly debate going on about “what is to be will be.”
I asked Boyles if he believed if it were his time to die, would he be killed in the bunker?
He said, “Yes.”
I answered, “Then you mean if you are going to die, it doesn’t matter if you are on the gun or in here in the bunker?”
“That’s right,” he said.
“Will you take my place on the gun after all if it is your time to go?” I responded.
He interrupted and said, “I’m not going to take your place on the gun!”
I laughed, and said, “Case closed.”
3:00 p.m.—Fairhurst and I took over the gun. Artillery shells continued coming in on us at a steady pace.
5:00 p.m.—The artillery stopped.
5:25 p.m.—Fairhurst, with his earphones on, was on the right of the gun and I was on the left. Most of our men had come out of the bunkers to survey the damages. Tents were blown up, debris was everywhere. My head was ringing from the constant noise and from not knowing if I would live to see my family again. I finally felt like I could relax a bit. I was sure that the worst was over.
5:30 p.m.—Five Korean Marine Corps Marines were standing on the edge of my gun pit in a huddle when one lone Chinese artillery round came in and exploded in the middle of them. Within literally the blink of an eye, they were all blown into a million pieces. A stomach, about the size of a Frisbee, landed beside me on a sand bag.
The air smelled of gunpowder and burning flesh. I was splattered with blood from my fellow KMC Marines. We gathered up their remains and placed them in cotton bags.
Fairhurst shouted, “fire mission,” and we started shooting at the Chinese.
Just before dark—A sight that will remain in my memory forever materialized. Two personnel trucks came down the winding mountain road at a slow pace, Dead USMC Marines were piled to the top of the frames. The load was shaking like Jell-O. I was watching and wondering why my life had been spared and their lives had ended.
Author’s Notes: The Korean War lasted from June 25, 1950 to July 27, 1953. The 1st Marine Division spent the winter of 1951 and the early part of 1952 in the mountains above the 38th parallel in the eastern part of Korea. Many battles and skirmishes transpired while temperatures varied from 50 degrees to 37 degrees below zero.
On March 17, 1952, the Division moved to the western part of Korea for the express purpose of pushing the battle line up even with the 38th parallel. Many battles were fought; many lives were lost by both the Chinese and Americans. In fact, more Marines were killed in 1952-1953, than in 1950-1951.
On June 25, 1952, at 9:55 p.m., a Russian 122 Howitzer projectile exploded six feet in front of me, knocking me unconscious. It burst both of my eardrums, and I bled at the ears, eyes, nose and mouth. To this day my left ear rings, and my right ear screams 24 hours a day.
The Korean War may be a “forgotten war” by many American people. In my mind there is no such thing as “Korea: The Forgotten War.” Let me assure you the families of 3.5 million Chinese, Korean, United Nations and Americans have not forgotten. The 157,000 American soldiers wounded, the families of more than 55,000 American soldiers killed, and the families of 8,000 missing in action military personnel, have not forgotten.
Finally, the 1.5 million American service men who have served in the Korean War – and who continue to serve in Korea – have not forgotten.
Glynn Ellis was surprised to find the story he wrote more than 50 years ago had been published in The Old Breed News, the official publication of the First Marine Division Association, Incorporated.
Ellis said the publication is published every two months and sent out to more than 13,000 subscribers.
His story, “One Day in North Korea,” appeared at the top of the May/June 2006 issue of the magazine.
Ellis served the United States Marine Corp in 1951 and 1952.
“A year ago I sent it (the story) in because I was encouraged to do so by Dorothy Barnes (Van Zandt County Veterans Service Office volunteer),” Ellis explained.
He said, “I got chills when I saw it (the story in the magazine).”
Ellis said he has been receiving telephone calls from all over the United States since the publication was sent out.
The following is Ellis’ story:
“One Day in North Korea”
November 1, 1951—We were 43 miles above the 38th Parallel, 16 miles west of the Sea of Japan. I was assigned to Howe Battery, 3rd Battalion, 11th Marines, 1st Marine Division.
5:55 a.m.—Sergeant Fairhurst and I replaced Cpl. Robert Dierdorf and Cpl, Donald Gaulke for the 3 a.m. to 6 a.m. shift. We were artillerymen. All artillerymen in the USMC had been former infantrymen. The artillery’s job was to protect the infantry in attack and defense, rain or shine, 24 hours a day. All six 105 howitzers per battery were ready to fight every minute-day and night.
6:00 a.m.—A Marine helicopter came to take our Gunnery Sergeant, Staff Sgt. Rupert Wilson, home because of an emergency in his family back in Dallas, Texas.
8:00 a.m.—The sun was peeping over the mountain that once had trees and vegetation, but was now scalded from bombs, artillery shells and big guns from ships.
As I gazed at the sun on this brisk cool morning, I was wondering if my mother and father could see the sun at the same time. In my mind, I was scanning through our family of uncles, aunts, cousins, neighbors, loved ones and friends, when four American Marine Corsairs popped over the mountaintop.
Three of the planes veered off to the left. However, one of them banked to the right toward the front line, then toward the ocean. Not realizing something bad was about to happen, I turned casually toward the mountaintop and continued viewing the sparkling sun. Suddenly, the same American Marine Corsair popped over the mountain and started shooting rockets and machine guns at us. He blew up an oil storage section and peppered us with 50 caliber machine guns bullets. Two men were killed and one man’s leg was cut off.
Our 50 caliber anti-aircraft machine gun had the Corsair in his sights. However, our gunner knew the Corsair was our plane and did not shoot him down. We never really found out why this happened. We assumed that the pilot was afraid and got confused. We were told that this was his first mission and that he was shot down later that day by the Chinese.
We had set the machine gun up to knock out a small Chinese plane that would fly just above the tree tops until he found an artillery unit. Then, he would throw dynamite on the guns and men. We had a surprise waiting for him, but he never came our way.
9:00 a.m.—The next crew had just relieved Sgt. Fairhurst and me when an artillery fight broke out with the Chinese.
My boot camp friend, Cpl. Lopez, was in George Battery across the road from us. Lopez was talking to a friend of his with his arm on the friend’s shoulder when the first Chinese artillery came in. It hit near them. Shrapnel cut Lopez’s friend’s head off, but left Lopez untouched.
The fight lasted eight hours, until 5:00 p.m. H-3-11 had two casualties; gun four and six had living quarters blown up, along with other damage. Sgt. Fairhurst and I were due to go back on the gun at 3:00 p.m.
2:50 p.m.—Those of us who were not on duty were in a bunker that we had built for such a situation. As we lay in the bunker, with the artillery sounding in the distance, Sgt. Boyles and I had a friendly debate going on about “what is to be will be.”
I asked Boyles if he believed if it were his time to die, would he be killed in the bunker?
He said, “Yes.”
I answered, “Then you mean if you are going to die, it doesn’t matter if you are on the gun or in here in the bunker?”
“That’s right,” he said.
“Will you take my place on the gun after all if it is your time to go?” I responded.
He interrupted and said, “I’m not going to take your place on the gun!”
I laughed, and said, “Case closed.”
3:00 p.m.—Fairhurst and I took over the gun. Artillery shells continued coming in on us at a steady pace.
5:00 p.m.—The artillery stopped.
5:25 p.m.—Fairhurst, with his earphones on, was on the right of the gun and I was on the left. Most of our men had come out of the bunkers to survey the damages. Tents were blown up, debris was everywhere. My head was ringing from the constant noise and from not knowing if I would live to see my family again. I finally felt like I could relax a bit. I was sure that the worst was over.
5:30 p.m.—Five Korean Marine Corps Marines were standing on the edge of my gun pit in a huddle when one lone Chinese artillery round came in and exploded in the middle of them. Within literally the blink of an eye, they were all blown into a million pieces. A stomach, about the size of a Frisbee, landed beside me on a sand bag.
The air smelled of gunpowder and burning flesh. I was splattered with blood from my fellow KMC Marines. We gathered up their remains and placed them in cotton bags.
Fairhurst shouted, “fire mission,” and we started shooting at the Chinese.
Just before dark—A sight that will remain in my memory forever materialized. Two personnel trucks came down the winding mountain road at a slow pace, Dead USMC Marines were piled to the top of the frames. The load was shaking like Jell-O. I was watching and wondering why my life had been spared and their lives had ended.
Author’s Notes: The Korean War lasted from June 25, 1950 to July 27, 1953. The 1st Marine Division spent the winter of 1951 and the early part of 1952 in the mountains above the 38th parallel in the eastern part of Korea. Many battles and skirmishes transpired while temperatures varied from 50 degrees to 37 degrees below zero.
On March 17, 1952, the Division moved to the western part of Korea for the express purpose of pushing the battle line up even with the 38th parallel. Many battles were fought; many lives were lost by both the Chinese and Americans. In fact, more Marines were killed in 1952-1953, than in 1950-1951.
On June 25, 1952, at 9:55 p.m., a Russian 122 Howitzer projectile exploded six feet in front of me, knocking me unconscious. It burst both of my eardrums, and I bled at the ears, eyes, nose and mouth. To this day my left ear rings, and my right ear screams 24 hours a day.
The Korean War may be a “forgotten war” by many American people. In my mind there is no such thing as “Korea: The Forgotten War.” Let me assure you the families of 3.5 million Chinese, Korean, United Nations and Americans have not forgotten. The 157,000 American soldiers wounded, the families of more than 55,000 American soldiers killed, and the families of 8,000 missing in action military personnel, have not forgotten.
Finally, the 1.5 million American service men who have served in the Korean War – and who continue to serve in Korea – have not forgotten.