Jul/Aug 2006 - Korean War Veterans Association

The
Eddie Ko
Story
Eddie Ko, a member of CID 175
20
We became acquainted with
Choon Kyung Ko in the late
1990s, when he became a member
of Lt. Baldomero Lopez, MOH,
Chapter 175, of Tampa, Florida. By this
time he had changed his name to Eddie Ko.
But, wait…let Eddie tell you his story!
My father was a Christian missionary
and my Mother was a teacher. I loved and
respected them dearly. Besides the love I
had for them, my next greatest love was for
Rex, my playful dog.
From the first to the third grade, Rex
escorted me to and from school each day in
my hometown near Seoul, Korea. At that
time, Korea had not been divided into
South Korea and North Korea. Rex was
mostly black, with a white patch on his side
that was shaped somewhat like Korea. Rex
would always be waiting for me when I got
out of school each day. Our walk home was
comforting to me, for I knew that Rex
would take care of me. We would run and
play together. So, I never gave it a thought
that anything or anyone would hurt my
dog.
One day I could not find Rex. I searched
everywhere I could think of, but I did not
have any luck. My father told me I should
not worry. However, I had heard some
alarming news that the Japanese soldiers
were rounding up all the dogs they could
find, because the dogs were beginning to
I saw hundreds of dog pelts draped over clotheslines and drying in the sun. I
asked a soldier standing near by why the skins were there.
“Dog fur,” he replied. “We’re going to turn the pelts into coats and gloves for the
Japanese army in Manchuria.”
Then, across one of the lines, I spotted a black pelt with a white spot shaped like
Korea. I could never express to anyone, not even my mother and father, how my
heart ached over the loss of my beloved [dog] Rex.
bite and attack people due to loud noises
caused by the gun fire and bombs exploding
all around.
I knew that Rex would not bite anyone.
I tried to cling to some assurance from my
father. On one of my days of searching, I
was walking along the riverbank when I
saw a sight that made me sick to my stomach.
I saw hundreds of dog pelts draped
over clotheslines and drying in the sun. I
asked a soldier standing near by why the
skins were there.
“Dog fur,” he replied. “We’re going to
turn the pelts into coats and gloves for the
Japanese army in Manchuria.” I had to
force myself to go farther, for I had to
know. Then, across one of the lines, I spotted
a black pelt with a white spot shaped
like Korea. I could never express to anyone,
not even my mother and father, how
my heart ached over the loss of my beloved
Rex.
I was not only hurt, but I was livid with
anger. That night, I could not sleep. All I
could think of was the sight I had seen
beside the riverbank. I slipped out of bed,
took my father’s straight-edged razor, and
sneaked out of the house. I carefully and
quietly raced to the riverbank. I was crying
almost uncontrollable. In my rage I slashed
every single pelt, rendering them useless. It
didn’t bring Rex back to me, but I could
never let them use Rex’s pelt to keep them
warm.
The next day, outraged Japanese officials
put up wanted posters, offering a
reward for the capture of the person or persons
who had done this. Afraid I would be
identified and caught; I confessed to my
father what I had done. The soldiers were
going door to door searching for a young
boy, about eight to twelve years old, who
someone had described as running from the
riverbank.
July - August A
2006
The Graybeards