Yongsan Legacy Waking up in an unfamiliar place in 1957
Bill Morgenstein in 1957 / Courtesy of Yongsan Legacy
By Bill Morgenstein
For some reason Halloween was a big holiday for us. Halloween was party time. You drank until you fell. The ambassador was long gone and last thing I remember was downing whiskeys at the OEC Club on post with my friend Jimmy.
Waking up out of our stupor, the two of us were in an unfamiliar place. Worse, our boots were gone and walking around in khaki army socks was no pleasure. We had to get off the rocky road and into a town and then find the base. We didn't have a compass with us and I have a notoriously bad sense of direction.
After lots of aimless walking suddenly we saw some two- or three-story buildings in the distance ― Seoul, hopefully. As we approached in what seemed like an eternity, we saw a shocking site. Flags were draped from the windows. Not just flags, but red flags. My God, we must have wandered into North Korea.
As we were now completely sober, we knew a number of things.
1. We couldn't be seen.
2. We had to head South.
3. If the MPs saw us without boots, we would be court-martialed.
The sun was setting so we figured out south, hiding and frozen with fear every time we heard a sound. Feet stinging, hungry, feeling cruddy ― we walked, hid, walked, hid. It looked like the main supply route (MSR) ahead which would lead to Eighth Army Support Command (EASCOM) and our base.
Our luck: a cab came. Luckily our documents hadn't been stolen and I had military payment certificates (MPCs), a form of Army currency, hidden in my sock. “SAC Army base!” we yelled in unison.
Since the driver was not responding Jim went into his Turkish soldier act. The Koreans were deathly afraid of Turkish soldiers who all carried long knives. Jim was screaming gibberish and pounding the top of the taxi cab's front seat.
“Yongsan, Yongsan Reservation!” he yelled.
The driver sped to the post but we had him leave us about 50 yards on the side. We were frightened again because if the MPs saw we had no boots we would be in a heap of trouble.
When we reached the gate we were in for a bit of luck. As we approached and showed our documents a Korean “honey bucket” truck (human waste collection) was just passing. The MPs were distracted by the noise and the smell of human waste (which was used to fertilize their crops). Koreans at the time were not overly fond of dogs and one of my friends from the JAG corps (legal team) saved a dog from the honey bucket brigade but unfortunately the smell never left the dog.
Anyway, we were saved, got back to the barracks and told our story. Carl (who was a Harvard-trained lawyer and knew everything) laughed ― one of the few times I had ever seen him laugh. Usually Carl had no common sense but this time he knew what the flags were about.
No, we were not in North Korea. There was a small village nearby that was inhabited by a small Nationalist Chinese community. It had been a Nationalist Chinese holiday! We didn't know the difference between Communist Chinese and National Chinese flags. Shame on us.
Bill Morgenstein was born in Brooklyn in the 1930s. He was stationed in Yongsan Garrison 1957 to 1958. His life experiences are written in his autobiography "The Crazy Life of a Kid from Brooklyn." Visit
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