The Milky Way: How an Eleven-Year-Old Girl Found Songs in the Chaos of the Korean War

By Insook Kim Won

Insook Wons peaceful childhood years were marred when the Korean War broke out. She began to support her family at the age of fifteen. A high school music teacher gave Won her first voice lessons, which led her to the world of singing. Despite the many obstacles, she persisted in pursuing her academic goals.

Determined to study at a university in the United States, she received a scholarship and managed to secure a visa and travel funds. With the assurance she received from a young professors family, she came to Miami, Florida, to study voice at the University of Miami.

Upon completing her masters degree, she married Duk Joong Won, a longtime church friend. She moved to Washington, DC, where he was working on postgraduate studies. She was selected as a Teacher Corps intern and candidate for her second masters degree in teaching. She served public schools in three counties in the Washington metropolitan area for a decade.

She and her husband raised two daughters. As her husband was called to do ministry, she was by his side ministering, serving the needy, directing choirs, refining her voice as a soloist, and deepening her love of God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Sep 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781512707168

Insook Kim Won

The Korean War broke out when Insook Won was eleven. Her two older brothers and her father were gone, casualties of the war. Difficulties had bombarded her family. She helped her family to survive and found her future in singing, a passion that eventually led her to become a classical vocalist. Her faith in God helped her to overcome all obstacles. She came to the United States to study voice. She also became a bilingual teacher, helping immigrant children. Her passion in the world of music remained all her life and she continued her love of singing joyfully. The author sings solo performance for the celebration of International Students Day in May 1967.

Book preview

The

Milky Way

How an Eleven-Year-Old Girl

Found Songs in the Chaos

of the Korean War

INSOOK KIM WON

39982.png

Copyright © 2015 Insook Kim Won.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989, Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-5127-0715-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-0717-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-0716-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015912760

WestBow Press rev. date: 08/18/2015

Contents

Foreword

Acknowledgments

PART I

Growing Up Years

Chapter 1 Don Ahm Dong

Chapter 2 The Korean War

Chapter 3 The Town of Jin Wee

Chapter 4 The War on my Family

PART II

The World of Music

Chapter 5 Singing Lessons

Chapter 6 American Dream

Chapter 7 Vocal Training in Miami

Chapter 8 Adieu, Miami

PART III

In the Nation’s Capital

Chapter 9 A Real World

Chapter 10 The Three Births

Chapter 11 Maryland Suburbs

Chapter 12 Teacher Corps

Chapter 13 Awakening Faith

Chapter 14 The Lost River

PART IV

The Ministry

Chapter 15 In Savannah

Chapter 16 The Ministry in Jordan

Epilogue

Chapter 17 In Southern California

This book is

dedicated to my grandchildren,

Sophie and Ian Wasson

Foreword

The Milky Way is a memoir of enduring love, persistence and faith, lyrically woven together with the beautiful music the author sings. This memoir of the life of Insook Kim Won provides a deep understanding of the Korean War from a child’s point of view, yet it also relates the players, the sides, the politics, and the unfathomable cost of war, in prose that is both simple and lucid.

Insook’s early story takes the reader to the time of the Japanese occupation of Korea—an era generally unfamiliar to the Western reader. We learn of the hardships faced under Japanese rule. But from a little girl’s point of view, this was simply life as she knew it. There was no rice, as the Japanese took it for themselves; schools required children to take a Japanese name and to learn to speak Japanese. But for a small child, not yet of school age, Insook reveals the joys of the little bit of brown sugar they were rationed and the child’s delight of a vendor’s machine which exploded hot grain, creating a crispy, toasted treat. We feel her innocence as she and her playmates use stones for their happy games. We learn of life in a Confucian home, of its traditions and foods, and we begin to perceive a sense of its culture. World War II raged throughout Europe and Asia; then, when Insook was six years old, Korea was liberated from the Japanese. How could she or anyone predict the nightmare the people of Korea were still to face?

In the summer of 1948, the Republic of Korea became official, and within a month, the Communist regime in the North proclaimed the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. Insook Won says, This was the genesis of the tragedy of two Koreas, dividing one race and one nation into two pieces. Insook’s family represents that broken Korea, for it too broke in half. Both her older brothers accepted the communist philosophy, and to the grief of her family, sided with the North. Insook’s eldest brother left his loving wife, Kai Soon, his children, and the rest of the family to work for the communists; her second brother also chose North Korea. Insook’s elder sister lived in Kai Sung, which became part of the North. And although Insook could look from the top of one mountain across the valley to her sister’s home, she would never see her again. The family was broken by this tragedy, and Insook has never known what became of those three siblings. This portion of the story highlights the incredible bravery, generosity, and perseverance of her family and indeed the Korean people as they fled, took children to safety, and struggled to survive. But more than a story of survival against all odds, The Milky Way is still a story of a child delighted with learning, joyful in her discovery of music, and beginning to find a Christian faith that would sustain her through the difficult years to come.

The remainder of The Milky Way documents Insook Won’s incredible journey and enviable tenacity to make her dreams come true. As a single, Korean woman, she came alone to the United States to pursue an education as a classical singer. Through bravery and hard work Insook achieved her academic as well as personal goals. We learn of her struggle to adapt to American society, her striving for excellence as a singer, her study of German as well as English, her certification and work as a bilingual teacher—all this while being a dedicated wife and mother. Ultimately, Insook’s husband, Duk Joong Won, Ph.D., left behind his lucrative business to attend seminary and to work as a United Methodist pastor. Insook was by his side, ministering to the needy, directing choirs, and organizing everything, all while deepening her love of God. This is a remarkable story of a woman we can all admire. Her story left me imagining Insook singing joyfully even to the end, always striving to be better, to learn more and to glorify her God.

GAIL GRAY HELM

Gail Helm taught creative writing in Long Beach and Cerritos, California, for over thirty years. She is a living history docent at Rancho los Cerritos and author of the novel Instant Mystic.

Acknowledgments

In August 2013, Duk Joong, my husband, and I had an opportunity to meet Jeanne Lindsey at her home in Buena Park, California. As we had already heard about her through our neighbors Arlene and James Brooster, we knew that Jeanne had published numerous books. Since Duk Joong had just finished writing his memoir, he wanted to know how to find a publisher. When Jeanne asked about me, I said, I have been writing my life story too. Then she mentioned her Life Story Group, which meets every other week; the participants bring the life stories they have written and read them aloud. I decided to join.

After several months of taking part in the group, my ears became attuned to understanding the narration of the members’ experiences coming from their hearts. The other important benefit was that the readers were getting to know one another as well as building a supportive circle. I greatly appreciate that Jeanne read all the chapters of my first draft and edited them. I also owe the support group members thanks for their precious advice as I worked on and completed my manuscript.

Jean Caffey Lyles was truly a God-sent blessing throughout my manuscript process. She is an outstanding editor and advisor to me, since I had little experience with the world of writing. My neighbor James V. Lyles has been a wonderful encourager. When I was hesitant to continue my writing, he said, Keep on writing; you went through a war, and you must have stories to tell.

Duk Joong, my husband, was my closest contributor and mentor: Whenever he appeared near my study, I would grab him to share my latest writing. His advice and feedback have been more than helpful. He often commented, You should write the way you speak. I think your problem is that you often do not write the way you speak. That was a difficult concept for me to understand. He was an honest disciplinarian and said a few times that I should go back to school to learn writing. Throughout, I continued writing. I am grateful to God that I have had the persistence and desire to work hard for the goal I set.

I thank Sophie, my granddaughter, for her writing 38724.png (The Milky Way in the blue sky) on the cover. I am also grateful to Gail Helm, who thoroughly reviewed this book and offered many valuable suggestions.

Part I

Growing Up Years

Chapter 1

Don Ahm Dong

I was born in Seoul in 1939, about thirty years after the Japanese seized control of Korea. My father, Yong Hee Kim, was an educated man who was able to read Chinese classical literature and to write in Chinese. My father and mother had moved to Seoul from their ancestral province, Hwa Sung, before I was born. For some years my father worked as a shoemaker.

My first memories date from the time when I was three years old. I often wore a pair of geh dah, Japanese-style wooden flip-flops. Our neighborhood street was surfaced with dirt and small bits of gravel, which easily flew in and out of my slippers. Being an adventurous child, I often climbed a hill a short distance from my house. When I fell down and screamed, my sister-in-law, Kai Soon, rushed to pick me up. She called out, Get up, little one, and my screams changed to soft sobs.

We lived in one of the municipal subdivisions of the city, a town named Don Ahm Dong, thirty minutes by foot from the nearest transport station. The houses in our neighborhood lined both sides of the street, which ran along the base of low, rolling hills. My earliest childhood memories spring from our life in Don Ahm Dong. These were happy times for a child ignorant of the turbulence in which Korean adults lived under Japanese occupation.

Kai Soon Lee became an integral member of my family when she married my eldest brother, Jin Kook. It was Korean custom for the first-born son and his wife to support his parents in their old age and, most important, to support the younger brothers and sisters until they married. Kai Soon Lee fulfilled her role well. She was my babysitter, playmate, and second mother. Out of respect and tradition I called her Unni (Older Sister).

Young Sook, my only sister, got married before I was born and moved to Kai Sung, seventy miles north of Seoul. I had seen her only a few times, and I never had the opportunity to get to know her personality. My cousin told me that my older brother Jin Kook was an able man. He was a good student and financially independent from his late teens. He earned a good income from a farming equipment business. Because of his success, my family was comfortable and prosperous during those years. We moved into a house in a well-established middle-class residential area in Don Ahm Dong. My second-oldest brother, Jin Whan, was ten years older than I. My younger brother, Jin Tae, was two years younger.

My father practiced Confucianism, as did the whole society. Father propped up a huge gray tent on the wooden floor, which the family used as a living space in the summertime. Using a writing brush and black India ink, he wrote on rice paper in Chinese characters the name of the deceased ancestor, the date of his death, and a prayer. The freshly written paper was inserted into a wooden frame and placed on a memorial table.

On the memorial table were set more than ten kinds of specially prepared food, including soup, rice, meat, fish (dried and cooked), and fruits (both fresh and dried). Raised brass bowls held the foods, and the placement of each followed traditional rules. If the ancestor had had a spouse, two sets of rice and soup bowls rather than one were set out on the table. The memorial service followed a set order: First, Father would recite a special prayer inviting the ancestor’s spirit to enter the house and come to the table. He would greet the ancestor in the manner of a meditation or a dialogue. My father and brothers stood facing the memorial table and then knelt down, bowing their heads to the floor several times. The ancestor would twice be offered sake, an alcoholic beverage of fermented rice. As the ancestral spirit began to partake, scorched-rice water would be poured, to be drunk as tea.

After the service, the family cleared the memorial table and sat at dining tables set at a level lower than that of the memorial table, sharing the meal prepared for the service.

Most Koreans have continued the ritual intact to this day. New Year’s

Day (by the lunar calendar) and Chusuk Day—an autumn festival, August 15 by the lunar calendar—are the most celebrated Korean holidays. The latter is a day of thanksgiving for the new harvest, as well as an occasion to remember deceased parents and grandparents.

Most Korean Christians do not keep the old memorial practices in the ancient fashion. Instead they hold memorial services with prayers, hymns, Scripture readings, and a time for sharing memories of loved ones. The dining that follows is a simpler, more practical meal, better suited to busy modern life.

When I was four years old, Korea had been under Japanese rule for thirty-three years. The Japanese took away our rice, the main staple of the Korean diet, and gave it to Japanese citizens in Japan. As a result, Koreans didn’t have enough to eat. Instead of rice, we were allowed a ration of flour. We ate noodles or dumplings made of flour for every supper. To break the monotony, my mother and Kai Soon prepared flour dumpling su-je-bi in red-pepper sauce soup base (kkochu-jang).

Occasionally, we were allowed a ration of brown sugar. When Japan occupied the Philippines, brown sugar was rationed in Seoul. I remember seeing people standing in line to receive their sugar and flour. Women brought round containers and set them on the ground in front of them. I was with my mother, and I played inside the container while we waited for our rations. Sugar was plentiful, and I remember eating thick brown sugar mixed in water.

That summer I watched a street vendor making a crisp rice or grain treat. The machine he used was a black metal cylinder. As soon as the grain went into the machine, the man lit a fire under the cylinder and turned the handle as fast as he could. The grain in the popping machine was ready to pop when the pressure reached a certain level. Everybody held their breath and plugged their ears with their fingers, because it made such a loud bang. Then the man opened the lid, and the warm popped grain poured out into a large container. Sugar was mixed with it to make a tasty snack. Children and a few grown-ups stood around to watch how this wondrous machine worked.

In our house was a little box of beautiful, shiny, artificial marble stones of various colors that Kai Soon had brought with her when she married Jin Kook. I took them out one by one, touched them, gently rubbing my fingers across their smooth surface, and put them back. To me they were precious and deserved to be handled with care and respect. Sometimes I removed them from their little box and counted them as if their number may have increased or decreased since I had last peeked at them. I always returned them to their sacred hiding place in Kai Soon’s special box.

Kai Soon’s marble stones were not the right kind for playing outdoor games. For kong-ki—a game similar to jacks, but played with stones—my girlfriend and I would gather as many as fifty stones of slightly different sizes. We would settle ourselves on the ground near the gate to play, scattering the stones in front of our knees. The object of the game was to pick up as many stones as possible at one time without touching any other stone around them. The winner was the one who picked up more stones. We played for long periods, often losing track of time, engrossed in our competition. The rough stones chafed our fingers, but we were not aware of that, and it didn’t matter because we were enjoying each other’s company.

One day the two spirited little girls ran up the road to the top of the hill to the school located there. When we reached the school gate, we became enchanted by an area next to the wall that was covered with shiny stones. The stones were vividly white and strikingly clean, of uniform size with sharp, pointed edges. We were mesmerized, and walked on them for the sheer fun of it. We walked through the halls of the school and into the classrooms, where we whirled around and around, enjoying the huge spacious rooms.

Immediately afterward, we dashed to my friend’s house, a typical Korean house with fenced walls and gate. The main section of the house had two rooms, and between them was the maroo—a wooden floor used as an extended living room for summer. I was very curious to see a new environment and enjoyed playing with my friend while her mother watched us with a smile.

Singing songs was an integral part of growing up for Korean children. The flowing melodies of children’s songs that aired on the radio every afternoon rang in my ears. One day I was playing around my house, and I began to sing a song. I remember that my voice was clear and smooth.

The first instrument to come into our home was a wind organ, which appeared suddenly. It had two pedals underneath that were pressed alternately to make sound. But the organ disappeared just as suddenly as it had appeared. Nevertheless, at an early age I developed a love of singing and music that would last a lifetime.

Around this time my first church experience happened. One day a friend said to me, Insook, I want you to go to church with me this Sunday. So I went to church with her. After I came home, my father and mother took me into the an-bang (an inner room), where my father held in his hand a whip made of a long dried willow branch. In a firm voice he said, If you go to that church again, I will whip you with this. Of course I was scared by his warning, and I didn’t go to church again. My father’s threat was so stern that I could not speak. That was the end of it. Since my family was Confucian, my parents could not allow their daughter to go to a church that taught a totally strange religion like Jesu-Jeng-I (people who follow Jesus). I did not know then that Christianity would become my religion of choice for life. If the Korean War had not broken out, I would not have been able to step inside a church for many decades.

As World War II was building to a dramatic conclusion, I anticipated entering public school. One day Mother called to me, a large white box in her hands. She opened the box and removed a dress of soft jersey in a mixture of colors—red, blue, yellow, and more. I had never worn such a pretty,