Jul/Aug 2006 - Korean War Veterans Association

of her will be in our hearts and a few pictures.
Damn it! Couldn’t they have just left
her at the bottom of the river and its tender
mercies? What’s happening to her now is a
fate worse than death!”
Lapsing into silence, we allowed our
thoughts a chance to roam through the
memories of days long gone, days when we
weren’t as thick around the waist and she
was there in all her glory and beauty, those
days when we recognized the delightful
form only she and very few others have
ever possessed. This was when, each in his
own time and fashion, we were lovers with
the lady we had earlier visited from afar.
Soon, my friend and I prepared to part,
both of us talking about looking one another
up at some future date, each knowing he
would probably never do so because of the
painful memories such a get-together
would rekindle. Earlier, we had both witnessed
our true love in a distress we could
not relieve, and we had been sorely wounded
by this failure.
We at last parted as kindred spirits who
had said our final farewells to a great and
wonderful lady, our Lover.
Settling into the seat of my car, I decided
I simply had to see her one last tune. As
I approached our observation post for
another glimpse of her, I was still hoping
the earlier vision had somehow been a mistake,
perhaps even a mirage.
As soon as she came into view, it was
easy to realize the true mistake had been
returning to the viewpoint at all.
Swallowing a silent sob, I watched for a
few minutes as the vultures tore at her flesh
with cutting torches and cranes. She had
now become nothing more than a strippeddown
barely-floating hulk, and there wasn’t
a thing remaining to remind me of the beautiful
and sleek vessel she once had been.
Saluting a last farewell to the carrier
USS Princeton, my first ship, my long-ago
paramour, I silently drove home to another
love, my wife and family.
News Release
Portland, Oregon - Sept., 1973
Today the former USS Princeton, CVA 37, a
US Navy aircraft carrier of the Essex Class,
sank at the Zidell ship-breaking pier where it is
being dismantled for scrap value.
Once refloated, dismantling will continue.
Sometimes It Pays To Be Insane
By Carroll Everist
As an 18 year old, I enlisted in the
Iowa National Guard. Jobs were not
too plentiful for a young man that year, so
in 1949, I asked for a transfer to the U.S
Army. It came through.
After basic training at Fort Riley, I went
to Camp Carson for ski and mountain training
in the 14th RCT. The Korean War erupted
25 June 1950. In mid-July all three battalions
of the 14th shipped out to Pusan,
South Korea on the General Pope, a WWII
transport. Once there, the regiment was broken
up, one battalion being assigned to each
of the three regiments in the First Cavalry
Division, Fifth, Seventh, and Eighth
Cavalry. We were re-designated 3d Bn of the
Fifth Cavalry Regt, 1st Cavalry Division.
Our Bn CO was Lt Col. Edgar Treacy, Jr.
a West Point man, Class of 1935. He had
commanded us at Camp Carson and
remained our Bn CO. My company CO was
Capt Perry. His XO was Lt Dixon Rodgers.
We were very quickly put on a train to the
Naktong River. We rushed into position, and
had our baptism of fire that same day. Very
shortly I was promoted to Cpl.
During the Naktong fighting, we were
always on 100% alert. To stay awake, we
would break apart Vicks inhalers. They had
Benzedrine in them. We would mix it with
gum and chew it to stay awake. It kept me
awake, but after several days of this, it
almost cost me my life.
When I finally did go to sleep, my
Platoon Sgt could not awaken me during a
North Korean attack. We had our first five
men killed while we were dug in on Hill
174. Our first KIA was Cpl Carl W. Cook.
I’ll never forget him. He raised his head
above the skyline, and a sniper shot him just
about the eyes. Another time, a shell hit near
our machine gun. Both the gunner and the
assistant gunner were hit. My foxhole buddy
and I took over the machine gun. My buddy
said if we got out of this, he would go to
church every Sunday. I’ve often wondered if
he did.
While on Hill 174, on 13 Sep. I received
a Dear John letter. I was discharged, called
back to active duty, and survived a human
sea attack. We lost Hill 174, then retook it,
only to find some of our men butchered,
hands tied behind their backs and shot.
Carroll Everist
on convelescent
leave from
Camp Cooke,
CA Army
Hospital in 1951
Later in the war, on 15 Feb ‘51, my company
was a part of Task Force Crombez, sent
to the aid of the 23d RCT. En route, we were
riding our tanks when we came under fire
from all sides. I was shot in the left knee.
The tanks stopped. I got off to find cover and
to return fire, but wasn’t of much use. I had
no mobility.
The tanks bugged out, leaving eight or
nine wounded, one of whom was our Bn
CO, Lt Col Treacy. He had been wounded in
the mouth. We were all captured. I had no
aid pouch to dress my knee. Col Treacy gave
me his, and carried me on his back. One man
was taken from our group. We never saw
him again. That night, Col Treacy was taken
away. I learned years later he died in a POW
Camp on 31 May 1951.
The other POWs with me were murdered,
shot in the head. I was next, but I put
on a first class show of hysteria, not all of it
simulated. I had heard that the Chinese
believe if you are insane, you are worse off
than if dead. They stripped me and took my
CIB, watch, and billfold. They took, but
returned, a prayer book given to me by the
Wesley Methodist Church in Mason City,
Iowa. I still have it.
I maintained an insane attitude after the
near shooting. From time to time, and very
surreptitiously, I would loosen the tourniquet
on my leg. The Chinese pulled out,
leaving me. I lived on icicles and snow until
18 Feb, when I was picked up. My first food
was a can of franks and beans. I like them to
this day.
I now understand why I lived. The Lord
heard my prayers. Later in my life I became
an ordained minister.
Carroll Everist now lives in Mulvane, KS
61
The Graybeards
July - August A
2006