Until 1914 and the beginning of
Europe’s “Great War” the world hadn’t had to invent the term total war. Armed conflict was
historically fought, won and lost and territories secured by armies, and navies
with whatever mechanical wonders were possessed at the time. Civilian
populations though certainly at risk, were usually not the specific target of
the killing. By 1917 and the signing of the Armistice agreement, 7 million of
the 17 million war deaths were non-military, and Germany alone had 20 million newly-minted
orphans. And that was just a preview of WWII statistics just ahead.
Although it lasted only three years,
the Korean War (1950 – 1953) chalked up more casualties per unit of time and
greater destruction than any other U.S.conflict. In addition to the loss of 10%
of their pre-war population, North and South Koreans saw ten million of their
families permanently divided.
If there is one picture indelibly
etched in the memories of the mostly-unprepared young Americans who went there
to fight for others, it will be of the small parentless children, crying beside
the dusty roadways and within the flattened and burning villages of a former
land of farmers and fisher folk where half of the livestock and all of the
fishing fleet had been destroyed, and starvation walked the ruined land. It is
believed that 100,000 of these “children of war” existed in the U.S. occupied
zone.
We were admonished not to
“interfere” with these wandering waifs, many of which had trudged behind our
retreating, then advancing forces up and down a rugged war-seared land the size
of Utah, in all kinds of weather. American G.I.s cannot be constrained by a
mere General from doing what nature whispers in their hearts and ears, and soon
almost every military bivouac or campsite had its own compliment of “illegal”
orphans who shared our tents, bunkers, G.I. blankets, “SOS” chow and everyday
dangers. We invented between us an entirely new language – a combination of
Japanese, Korean and G.I. “Jive”. Even though individual troops came and went
and mobile headquarters moved location frequently, the continuation of
unwritten “articles of understanding” kept “our kids” secure and largely
unknown to higher authority.
Inasmuch as most of us were barely
out of our teens ourselves and with young brothers and sisters back home, these
“children of war” softened our hearts in the midst of all the fears and
uncertainties which filled our nights and days and added something I’ve only
come to appreciate in recent years to the sense of “family” the unusual
“brotherhood” the elite nature of our assignment had already breathed into us.
My very small outfit was home to two
such “mascots”, the youngest of whom – Sikoshi
Joe – age 8-9 involved me in this unusual G.I “Family Triad” since I replaced
the Sergeant who had played a role prior to my arrival. His exact origins were
a mystery, although it was believed he had escaped from the North after seeing
his family executed. His legs were covered with healed burn scars, probably
from napalm. Most of the local villagers were known to have lived north of the
wire our unit straddled as the base camp for the mountain-top radar outpost we
served. Whatever the case, he was now ours
and nobody was going to take him away.
Korea, 1952. A proud Al Cooper holds Sikoshi Joe in his arms. Al Cooper Photo
South Korean officials who know me
today always express surprise at the sense of intimacy with Korea and Koreans I
apparently display; they see it as an unusual aspect of my total experience
there. If they knew me better, they would probably notice that this connection
is probably most in evidence when the Children of War are in my thoughts. As I
raise the flags of the two countries over my Utah home place tomorrow in
recognition of the armistice which brought an end to that war on July 27, 1953,
I will be wondering about Sikoshi Joe and the thousands of others who were
given a future thanks to the G.I. Mascot Program and the love of caring
American boys all those years ago.
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