This One's for You, Bud

Marine PFC Sterling G. Patterson of Eagle Rock, California guards a shipment of beer rations forwarded to the front lines.

September 15, 1950.  It was a good idea - at least on paper. Milwaukee's Blatz  and Jos. Schlitz Brewing Companies each offered to donate 600,000 cans or bottles of beer to American fighting men in Korea. Not only would it boost recipients' morale, the exposure would be a marketing coup for the suppliers.

The U.S. Army's initial contribution to the Korean War included a preponderance of teenage boys. About half these troops, like PVT Philip Hughes, were age 20 or younger. Quartermasters were accustomed to providing beer rations, but word of this treat filtered back to the U.S. in letters that the boys sent home. A domestic cry of indignation arose from the Women's Christian Temperance Union, among others, who lobbied Congress to cease and desist in the provision of beer, lest the American youngsters fall prey to alcoholism. It was also true that cigarettes were integral to Army rations, but that's another story.

The Army initially reacted to pressure by instituting a beer ban. General Douglas MacArthur, supreme commander of the U.N. forces in Korea, had other ideas. Nominally a Milwaukee native, MacArthur ordered that fighting men would continue to receive one free can of beer per day. Complicating the issue was the fact that taxpayers footed the bill for battlefield brew. Back in Washington, D.C., Secretary of the Army Frank Pace Jr. prevaricated for days over the brewers' offer. A compromise was reached on September 27.  The Army would accept the beer, as long as its alcohol content by volume was 3.2% or less.

It took a while for the beer to transship to Korea. The first rations were served to the intended recipients along with chow on Christmas Day. Many of the boy soldiers wrote letters of thanks to the brewers. At the end of the Korean War, Army troops found that empty beer cans were perfectly dimensioned to store unused hand grenades. This became standard operating procedure which, according to the United Press, saved the Army $20,000.

James Williams' Not So Easy Ride

1950. Korea. An intrepid jeep driver and crew race their cargo under fire. Photo by PFC Hancock, U.S. Army.

Ward and Mary Williams of East Alton, Illinois may have struggled through the Great Depression, but they provided as best they could for their two sons.  In 1940, Ward drove a taxi, while Mary worked in a munitions plant.  They had enough resources to seek medical remedy for the younger of their two sons, James, who was born with a cleft lip.  Surgery improved the condition, but did not totally erase evidence of the ailment. James joined the Army as a teenager, and was counted among the first boatload of American soldiers sent from Japan to Korea upon the outbreak of hostilities there.  He arrived on July 4, 1950.

"You could tell he was self conscious about it," as Lacy Barnett, age 91, recalled James' cleft lip in a recent email.

Lacy and James Williams served together in the 34th Infantry Regiment's medical company. Curiously, there were then three young men named "Williams" in that company during July 1950. Lacy knew them all.

The Army assigned the occupational specialty of "light truck driver" to Ward and Mary's boy. James was performing this vocation on July 20, 1950.  On that day, the 34th Infantry was trying to hold on to the city of Taejon just one more day as North Korean tanks and infantry bore down from the north. The 34th's third battalion held a tenuous line around the airfield just north of the city.  Outnumbered and surrounded, the battalion was preparing to withdraw, hoping to make it back to Taejon and eventual escape southward by rail.  But first, they had to break through the enemy encirclement. They had wounded to evacuate.

It was James C. Williams' job to drive a litter jeep - a vehicle that bore 2-3 stretchers each with a wounded soldier. The North Korean encirclement of the airfield was not complete, but it was effective enough. James and the wounded comrades he carried were killed at some point on the gauntlet to Taejon. James was not yet 20 years old.

All three of the medical company's Williams boys died that day during the North Koreans' advance on Taejon. Several survivors would later provide written statements that they returned the remains of James C. Williams to a collection point. However, July 20 was not a good day for the U.S. Army. The Americans' withdrawal turned into a panicked rout.  To put it mildly, the remains of James and many other soldiers were hastily abandoned. Nevertheless, James was officially listed as "missing in action." His name was added to one of the granite slabs in the Courts of the Missing at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific in Honolulu.

That was pretty much the end of James' story until January 3, 2019, when the Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency news release announced the positive identification of PFC James C. Williams. The boy with the cleft lip will be repatriated for burial at home. A rosette will be inscribed on the slab next to James' name in the Courts of the Missing - to indicate that he has been accounted for.

A Time to Heal

Photo by William Straeter (AP)

July 4, 1951. Korea. In lieu of a Fourth of July Parade back home in Cleveland, Ohio, Sgt. Harry Hildreth is content to sunbathe on the banks of the Imjin River. Soldiers in Korea had periodic access to their regimental service company's modular shower facilities, trucked into place as conditions permitted.  When those facilities were not available, skinny-dipping was the alternative. While Hildreth, a 28-year-old veteran of World War II, was somewhat removed from the front lines, he nevertheless is prepared for potential hostilities. Next to him are his helmet, boots, a musette bag, and carbine with an expanded-capacity magazine. Sgt. Hildreth's uniform is nowhere in sight. It may be that his service company was providing laundry service at the time. Harry Hildreth survived the Korean War, but passed away in 1984 at the age of 62.

Korea Farewell

Another superb image from the Doug Price photo collection.

Early 1951. Pusan, Korea. Despite the sign affixed to the building that says "NO PHOTOGRAPHING," Maj. C.B. White of the 15th Field Artillery, U.S. Army 2nd Division, captured this dock-side image of a brass ensemble in 1951 as he departed Korea for Japan. A steady rain was underway at the time. The Eighth Army usually provided modest fanfare to send each batch of troops on their way to and from Korea. While the photo resolution is sketchy, it may be evidence of personnel integration at a time when the Army was still playing catch-up to Truman's Executive Order 9981.

Pvt. Philip Hughes was one of the first (and youngest) U.S. Army soldiers to depart to Korea at the beginning of the conflict. He entered Korea via this same port on July 3, 1950. His remains came back from Korea in 1951 as he was subsequently prepared for final interment in Arlington National Cemetery, just a few miles from his boyhood home in Washington, D.C.

The Identification of Leo Duquette

1949 or early 1950.  Japan.  Leo Duquette (circled) of Toledo, Ohio, out on the town.

From this festive photo, fast-forward to October 1950.  As U.S. forces push northward to recapture territory lost during the opening weeks of the Korean War, graves registration teams revisit those battle sites in search of remains.  Many sites hosted multiple sets of remains, sometimes buried, and sometimes not.  Identification of individuals was not always possible.

Search teams active to the south of Chonui found pretty much what they expected.  On July 11, 1950, the 21st Infantry Regiment's third battalion was ordered to stand fast on a ridge line that straddled the road south to Choch'iwon. It was there in October that graves registration found the remains of 164 Americans.  Time and the elements compromised much of the material that would aid in identification.  Persons who could not be identified with technologies prevailing at that time were assigned an inventory number.  Among these was X-132, who was buried as an unknown at the National Cemetery of the Pacific, better known to some as "The Punchbowl."  Officially, Leo would remain "missing in action."

Fast forward again 67 years, almost to the day.  The Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency is working round-the-clock to examine disinterred remains of U.S. servicemen retrieved from the battlefields of World War II, Korea, and Vietnam.  On October 16, 2017, the DPAA completed its DNA analysis to determine that X-132 was PFC Leo Duquette of L Company, 21st I/R.  Like PVT Philip Thomas Hughes, Leo enlisted in the Army as a 17-year-old kid. In July 1950, at age 19, Leo and much of his battalion were surrounded by superior numbers of North Korean forces. Few of the Americans made it out alive. Leo was the son of Lucien, a carpenter, and his wife Corrine.  Both parents have long since passed away without knowing the fate of their son.

Leo is survived by some younger siblings. In November 2018, Leo's siblings received his remains for interment in northwest Ohio.

Field Hygiene

c. 1950. Korea.  These Marines hold a hard-won hilltop position. They "enjoy" field accommodations very similar to those endured by PVT Philip Hughes and his U.S. Army colleagues. Here, we see PFC Richard West of South Dakota getting a haircut. He holds a mess kit water cup filled with shaving mud.  PFC John Clements of Texas is the barber. PFC Robert Green of Oregon waits his turn, passing the time with an old magazine.

Philip's Last Journey

March 21, 1951.  San Francisco, California.  Cargo from the USS General Randall carries the remains of personnel killed in the Korean War.  These were the first of over 34,000 remains to be repatriated. For the first time in the history of American warfare, the policy of repatriation was implemented to the greatest extent practicable. The U.S. Army established a mortuary affairs facility at Kokura, Japan, where a Coca-Cola plant was converted to an assembly line for the processing of remains.  These tasks involved the proper identification of individuals, embalming the remains, and disposition of personal effects.  All of this took time, so many of the remains were interred in temporary graves while they awaited processing.
  
Pvt. Philip Hughes, killed in action on September 12, 1950, began his last journey in late 1951.  Philip was shipped in a flag-draped casket held in a rugged shipping container like those shown here. His container was transshipped to a rail car that carried him to the Defense Department's east coast mortuary hub in New York.  The last leg of his journey took him by rail to Washington, D.C, and ultimately, Arlington National Cemetery, where his final interment took place on February 27, 1952.