When Johnny Comes Marching Home by John T.
Jones, Ph.
D.
The Idaho National Guard is home from Iraq.
The headline this morning in The Times News said, "Home at last.
" I would have capitalized "last" but they didn't.
I might have even used HOME AT LAST! But that would be irrational exuberance.
When I came home from Korea, a few family members of some of the married guys greeted the ship in Seattle.
The rest of us piled into a convenient bus and headed for Fort Louis.
That's when a minor riot took place on my bus.
I was standing by the driver.
I said, "Easy guys! We're only going 30 miles an hour!" That calmed everybody down.
They thought we were going 90 miles an hour through the streets of Seattle.
That's why so many were frightened by the horseless carriage.
The high speed of over 20 miles an hour.
They scared the heck out of the horses too.
We usually were walking in Korea, not riding.
We had to get use to things again.
At Fort Louis, we were given a speech about why we should join our Division Association.
Hardly anybody put up the dough to join.
Then we were ushered to the mess hall where we were each given a big steak that looked yummy.
It was so tough that nobody could or did eat it.
We were to be discharged at Fort Louis within 24 hours.
We weren't.
For some reason the Army decided that we should be processed somewhere else.
They drove us to the airport and flew us to San Francisco.
I thought, The army is just trying to get me closer to my brother in Los Angeles.
We ended up at Fort Ord, California.
After several days, and after we damn near got court marshaled for not saluting officers, we were given a speech on why we should re-up.
Nobody did.
Then we were discharged.
(Oh, the reason we got in trouble was that if you saluted an officer while on the line in Korea, you were in big trouble!) With discharge papers in hand, we stood around talking to each other.
We didn't know what to do.
We had been under orders for two years! Finally I said after much discussion, "I don't know what you guts are going to do, but I'm getting out of here!" I caught a bus to the town of Salina (I think), bought a pair of Levi® jeans and a brown leather motorcycle jacket, and caught a bus to Los Angeles.
It was about 4 a.
m.
when I got to L.
A.
so I checked into a motel.
When the sun came up, I got into a cab for my brother's apartment which was within walking distance of the UCLA campus.
(What is the name of that town?) On the way, I found myself on the floor of the cab.
I asked the driver what happened.
He said, "A car backfired and you hit the deck.
" I thought that very strange.
In Korea, I could usually tell incoming from outgoing and usually didn't have to dive into the dirt.
I laughed and never did that again.
(The only time I couldn't tell if it was incoming or outgoing was when we were shelled three times one night by our own artillery.
We didn't hear the incoming rounds until they exploded in our faces.
) The next time I had a battlefield reaction was when I was driving across Nevada in my brother's Studebaker (remember those?) I had followed a Jeep station wagon for miles.
Suddenly, the Jeep turned head-over-heals down the middle of the road.
When a highway patrolman pulled up and asked if anyone was hurt, I said, "One killed and two wounded.
" Anyway, when I got home, the people other than my family said, "Have you been away?" That's when I knew I should have kept my uniform with the decorations and stuff.
Of course, the Korean War is known as the "Forgotten War.
" Nobody really gave a damn about it.
I went to Korea a couple of times a few years ago.
I was shopping for my wife in Seoul and the store owner wouldn't let me take the trolley back to the hotel.
He insisted that he drive me.
I'll tell you a deep secret: They know what the war was about.
Let me tell you a story so that you will know what I mean.
I had five ROK soldiers in my platoon.
One was Ree Teh Hee.
He had been fighting since the beginning of the war as there was no replacing of ROK soldiers during the war.
They had to fight until the war was over.
Ree was suffering from ulcers from our rich G.
I.
food.
He also worried a lot.
He had lost two brothers and his father as the opposing armies moved back and forth through Seoul.
He had one older brother left who watched over Ree's mother and teenage sister.
His brother worked on the railroad.
Ree was very sad one day.
I asked why.
I learned that his brother was killed when he fell under the train.
I knew what would probably happen.
Ree's little sister would probably have to go into prostitution to support her mother.
(When I got home I got a letter saying that Ree had been severely wounded.
) My unit found two little Korean boys on the road one day.
We dressed them in cowboy clothing ordered from Sears.
They were still with us when we went back on the line.
The Red Cross picked them up and united them to their grandparents.
There are thousands of such stories in the Land of the Morning Calm.
Even now, if a Korean veteran goes to Korea, he will be wined and dined, taken on tour, and given another medal to put on his chest.
Korea is like home to some of us Korean vets.
(Well, it does look like Utah.
) When our ship stopped in Hawaii I was sergeant of the guard and had to stay aboard.
I remember watching the men unload the coffins of the Hawaiian military men who had died in Korea.
It was such a sad scene to watch that process with not one soul on the dock to meet them.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven coffins.
That's how most of us felt when we got home.
I'm thankful that people care about our Bush War II vets.
We are making a lot of fuss over them here in Idaho.
I hope you are too.
The End copyright© John T.
Jones, Ph.
D.
2005
Jones, Ph.
D.
The Idaho National Guard is home from Iraq.
The headline this morning in The Times News said, "Home at last.
" I would have capitalized "last" but they didn't.
I might have even used HOME AT LAST! But that would be irrational exuberance.
When I came home from Korea, a few family members of some of the married guys greeted the ship in Seattle.
The rest of us piled into a convenient bus and headed for Fort Louis.
That's when a minor riot took place on my bus.
I was standing by the driver.
I said, "Easy guys! We're only going 30 miles an hour!" That calmed everybody down.
They thought we were going 90 miles an hour through the streets of Seattle.
That's why so many were frightened by the horseless carriage.
The high speed of over 20 miles an hour.
They scared the heck out of the horses too.
We usually were walking in Korea, not riding.
We had to get use to things again.
At Fort Louis, we were given a speech about why we should join our Division Association.
Hardly anybody put up the dough to join.
Then we were ushered to the mess hall where we were each given a big steak that looked yummy.
It was so tough that nobody could or did eat it.
We were to be discharged at Fort Louis within 24 hours.
We weren't.
For some reason the Army decided that we should be processed somewhere else.
They drove us to the airport and flew us to San Francisco.
I thought, The army is just trying to get me closer to my brother in Los Angeles.
We ended up at Fort Ord, California.
After several days, and after we damn near got court marshaled for not saluting officers, we were given a speech on why we should re-up.
Nobody did.
Then we were discharged.
(Oh, the reason we got in trouble was that if you saluted an officer while on the line in Korea, you were in big trouble!) With discharge papers in hand, we stood around talking to each other.
We didn't know what to do.
We had been under orders for two years! Finally I said after much discussion, "I don't know what you guts are going to do, but I'm getting out of here!" I caught a bus to the town of Salina (I think), bought a pair of Levi® jeans and a brown leather motorcycle jacket, and caught a bus to Los Angeles.
It was about 4 a.
m.
when I got to L.
A.
so I checked into a motel.
When the sun came up, I got into a cab for my brother's apartment which was within walking distance of the UCLA campus.
(What is the name of that town?) On the way, I found myself on the floor of the cab.
I asked the driver what happened.
He said, "A car backfired and you hit the deck.
" I thought that very strange.
In Korea, I could usually tell incoming from outgoing and usually didn't have to dive into the dirt.
I laughed and never did that again.
(The only time I couldn't tell if it was incoming or outgoing was when we were shelled three times one night by our own artillery.
We didn't hear the incoming rounds until they exploded in our faces.
) The next time I had a battlefield reaction was when I was driving across Nevada in my brother's Studebaker (remember those?) I had followed a Jeep station wagon for miles.
Suddenly, the Jeep turned head-over-heals down the middle of the road.
When a highway patrolman pulled up and asked if anyone was hurt, I said, "One killed and two wounded.
" Anyway, when I got home, the people other than my family said, "Have you been away?" That's when I knew I should have kept my uniform with the decorations and stuff.
Of course, the Korean War is known as the "Forgotten War.
" Nobody really gave a damn about it.
I went to Korea a couple of times a few years ago.
I was shopping for my wife in Seoul and the store owner wouldn't let me take the trolley back to the hotel.
He insisted that he drive me.
I'll tell you a deep secret: They know what the war was about.
Let me tell you a story so that you will know what I mean.
I had five ROK soldiers in my platoon.
One was Ree Teh Hee.
He had been fighting since the beginning of the war as there was no replacing of ROK soldiers during the war.
They had to fight until the war was over.
Ree was suffering from ulcers from our rich G.
I.
food.
He also worried a lot.
He had lost two brothers and his father as the opposing armies moved back and forth through Seoul.
He had one older brother left who watched over Ree's mother and teenage sister.
His brother worked on the railroad.
Ree was very sad one day.
I asked why.
I learned that his brother was killed when he fell under the train.
I knew what would probably happen.
Ree's little sister would probably have to go into prostitution to support her mother.
(When I got home I got a letter saying that Ree had been severely wounded.
) My unit found two little Korean boys on the road one day.
We dressed them in cowboy clothing ordered from Sears.
They were still with us when we went back on the line.
The Red Cross picked them up and united them to their grandparents.
There are thousands of such stories in the Land of the Morning Calm.
Even now, if a Korean veteran goes to Korea, he will be wined and dined, taken on tour, and given another medal to put on his chest.
Korea is like home to some of us Korean vets.
(Well, it does look like Utah.
) When our ship stopped in Hawaii I was sergeant of the guard and had to stay aboard.
I remember watching the men unload the coffins of the Hawaiian military men who had died in Korea.
It was such a sad scene to watch that process with not one soul on the dock to meet them.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven coffins.
That's how most of us felt when we got home.
I'm thankful that people care about our Bush War II vets.
We are making a lot of fuss over them here in Idaho.
I hope you are too.
The End copyright© John T.
Jones, Ph.
D.
2005
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