The Second Truth:: Korean War

By John Viola HM2

This is an autobiography by a young man of eighteen who saw movie news reels and feature films of the events in WW2. He knew he didn’t want to get drafted into the Army with all that marching and sleeping in a hole in the ground. Patriotism drove him to Join the Navy for four years. After training in boot camp, he qualified for any school

• Language: English
• Publisher: URLink Print & Media, LLC
• Release date: Mar 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643671741

John Viola HM2

My wife and I were taking long walks and talked about many things to pass the time, after some silence we realized we had run out of things to talk about. My wife knew I was in the Korean War but since Korean War veterans don't talk about the war she knew nothing. So, I started to tell her things as I recalled them. My wife is an avid reader and I respect her opinion and when she told me it would make a great book, I felt a nagging to tell our story and my book was born. There is no boring filler so the book is only sixty-two pages with 'interesting' things one right after another. With the things I recalled later I could have added more pages. I considered rewriting the story but I thought, I am not a professional writer and it is what it is.

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The Second Truth

Copyright © 2018 by John Viola. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of URLink Print and Media.

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Published in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-64367-173-4 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64367-174-1 (Digital)

1. Non-Fiction

2. Biography

04.12.18

This book is dedicated to all those men in the Korean War who did not come home. And to those who did, a welcome home.

INTRODUCTION

June 1950, Communist North Korea invaded South Korea with support from the Soviet Union. Therefore, the United Nations voted to assist South Korea, and here we are, in another war only four years after World War 2. I was eighteen years old and prime for the draft. I saw too many movies and newsreels during WW2, and I knew I did not want to sleep in a hole and do all that walking. Since the Soviet Union did not have much of a navy at this time, I thought it might be a good place to fight a war. So I enlisted in the navy for four years.

There was a group of ninety three of us at the recruiting station at Thirteenth and Market Streets in Philadelphia, the largest group since WW2. It was on the front page of the Philadelphia Daily News. We had to be here at 8:00 am, but we didn’t leave until late evening, because they had to arrange a special train for us. They sent us to a restaurant for lunch then dinner. Finally, we got on a train, and we were on our way to Great Lakes, Illinois. Our train pulled over to a side rail every time a regular scheduled train had to pass us. It was a very long ride to the Great Lakes Naval Training Base in Illinois. We slept in the seats. We left the train station and boarded a bus for the ride to the base. As we passed the navy base, I noticed that the barbed wire on top of the high cyclone fence was facing inward. Isn’t that supposed to keep people out?

Since we arrived late, they held the mess hall open for us. At top speed, a mess cook came out wearing a rubber apron and gloves, carrying a stack of those metal compartment trays just out of the steam cleaner, and hollering, Hot stuff! And sure enough, they were hot as hell, and we had to juggle them hand to hand, along with the hot cups with no handles.

Suddenly, I heard someone calling my name from behind the chow line. Here was a server from my hometown, Freddie. We were so happy to see a friendly face in this place of strangers. He told his buddies behind the food line to load me up, and they sure did. I hardly recognized him because his hair was so short.

At the exit, there was a very large sign that read, Take all you want. Eat all you take. Don’t waste food, and next to that exit was a big marine inspecting what you scrape off your tray.

That night I had trouble sleeping because my hands were sore from that hot tray and I felt sick from eating all that corn bread and chili they piled up on my tray. Also, trying to sleep in a very large drill hall with about a hundred or so other noisy guys on cots, I felt anxious and maybe a little scared.

This was my first day in the navy—1,459 more days to go.

Boot camp was fourteen weeks long, starting only after a battery of tests—medicals, dental, education, and aptitude level. Formal education diplomas didn’t matter, haircuts were so short everyone were almost bald and looked alike, and then you were placed in a company with a flag that had a number on it to carry wherever you go.

We got our uniforms, and they smell of mothballs. We were very anxious to get in a company so we could start the countdown of fourteen weeks. I think we were all scared of the unknowns and acting tough on the outside. If you were a foul ball, like having poor hygiene or some other defect, you were placed in Company D and carried that flag that had a big letter D on it. They did nothing but march and wash all their clothes, hang them on the line in the drying room, and march until they are dry. Then they repeated that over and over and stayed in that limbo until they got their act together. It had to be torture because you couldn’t start that fourteen weeks until you were in a real company.

Nothing was painted in our barracks, including our bunks. No scuff marks allowed. We used steel wool on everything. Our first week was hell, cleaning a place that was closed since the end of WW2. We had inspections every day. No dirty clothes anytime. Clothes were worn, hung on the line to dry, or folded clean in your seabag. If you were caught with any dirty piece of clothing, you went to Company D.

It was very cold here in January, and we had a runner who waited in the mess hall until the master in arms told him to get us. Then we marched orderly to the mess hall. I can still smell that good strong coffee. The food wasn’t bad at all, and it was so that if you were overweight, you lost it, and if you were under, you gained it. An instructor asked if anyone ate better than this at home, and one guy said he did. I didn’t believe it. Marching every morning and calisthenics kept you in good shape.

You could tell what week everyone was in by the length of his hair. About the time I could get a part in mine, we had firearms training. The instructor called our attention to the marine sitting on a high chair like you see at the seashore. He had an M1 rifle lying across his lap, and we were told that if anyone points his weapon in any direction other than the target, he will shoot you. I was very careful not to do that.

My first shot with the .45-caliber at fifty feet kicked up sand about ten feet in front of me. After hours of dry fire and target practice with a .22 barrel mounted on a .45 frame, I got pretty good