K-9 Korea

by J. Rachel Reed

  FRITZ

  Fritz, a Doberman sentry dog who had been donated to the war effort, exemplified both the challenges and the successes of the Dogs for Defense transition program. Following World War II, he was rehomed with Hut Vass and his family.

  In the years before World War II, Hut’s grandmother had raised many dogs considered to be aggressive breeds. She had, in the years after her husband passed, witnessed the whelping of two German Shepherds, one American Pit Bull, and several Doberman Pinscher pups. These dogs were raised with rigorous expectations. Each must be aggressive enough to serve as personal protector to a lady, and gentle enough to be her constant companion. She loved these characteristics the most: brute strength and gentle submission. She also greatly admired the dogs’ intellect and ability to discern when protection was necessary over play.

  One of the Dobermans had been especially good at this job. He constantly watched Hut’s grandmother, waiting for her to give some indication of where his protective services might be needed next. Every Sunday, without fail, she grabbed her Sunday hat signifying that they were going to church. In response, her beloved guardian would bolt out the back door, down the country lanes, into town, through the front doors of the Presbyterian church, and would end his run at “Grandmother’s” pew. There in the aisle, he would wait for her to arrive by car for the Sunday service, and there he would lie by her side until the service had ended.7

  On December 7, 1941, when Hut was just six years old, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor; there was no doubt in the American mind that the country was going to war. He could remember well his parents and grandmother listening to the radio program that announced the tragic attack on American soil. Even at a young age, Hut knew this meant the sacrifices would be great and much would be required of everyone. As his parents readied themselves, his grandmother made the suggestion Hut didn’t want to hear: “We can send our dogs.”

  One of the family’s young Dobermans had already set himself apart from the others by being a quick study. He had watched grandmother’s Doberman and learned that guarding and protecting was what a dog like him was born to do. This young dog had taken to Hut, and had even worked his way out of the kennel and into Hut’s bed. Every night Hut would go to sleep with the dog curled at his feet. Hut understood, deep down, that his dear canine friend was destined for war, and he cried at the thought of saying good-bye to his best buddy. But even at the age of six he understood the level of sacrifice necessary to win the war. He daydreamed about his dog defeating the whole Japanese Empire with one paw tied behind his back.

  Both Hut’s Doberman and his grandmother’s canine companion were donated to the war effort—a difficult separation for everyone involved, but one they undertook with courage. In the years to follow, Hut’s Danville, Virginia, community suffered many losses as young men went away, some of them never to return. The Vass family heard word through the grapevine that their dog was doing well, and one day they received confirmation by way of a letter from overseas. The dog’s handler continued to send letters throughout the war, keeping them informed of the dog’s well-being. He was never able to say where the K-9 team was stationed, only writing that they were “overseas.” Yet one thing was clear: Hut’s canine guardian had become a guardian to many and a true hero. He was proud of his dog for being every bit the soldier they knew he could be.

  The family, however, did not realize the depth of the bond formed in war between handler and dog. Shortly after V-J Day, Hut’s family received a different kind of letter than they had ever received before. It was a desperate plea from the handler, begging them to allow him to keep the military working dog that had become his closest comrade. Hamilton Vass, Hut’s father, felt it was the right thing to do. Hut was devastated to learn that his parents had made the decision to let the handler keep the beloved dog, but his dad had explained that there were other dogs that needed their family more.

  Hamilton had heard through friends (who were affiliated with the American Kennel Club) and fellow Doberman breeders that Dogs for Defense was looking for qualified homes to take in the sentry dogs who had survived the war. He knew that these dogs would be very challenging, but he also realized they were not lost causes but great dogs with special needs. Because of the family’s experience with the breed, Hamilton also knew that their home was the best place for a Doberman. He hoped that another Doberman could bring Hut’s grandmother peace after losing her beloved companion, and he believed Hut would benefit from a new friend. Without hesitation, Hamilton sent an adoption request to Dogs for Defense.

  Fritz, a sixty-four-pound Doberman, came to the Vass home at the relatively young age of six. He had been given an “Honorable Discharge” from the Army Air Corps, and the family was given his certificate of such. No one knew for sure what Fritz had seen and done in his service, but they did know he had acted as sentry in Adak Island, Alaska.

  During World War II Adak, one of the Aleutian Islands, was a key location for American troop placement in the Pacific and was intensely targeted by the Japanese. Few places required more of the extreme vigilance and keen senses of America’s K-9s.

  The Vass family understood that Fritz had served his post in Adak to the fullest and had saved countless American lives in the process. They also understood the fear he might have known from long, dark nights on patrol and the aggression he had to possess in order to protect his handler. A reporter from the Danville Register Bee came to talk with the Vass family about Fritz’s retirement and described the dog’s former training:

  In addition to teaching the dog to obey his commands, the trainer must also instill in the dog the idea that every human, except himself, is his natural enemy. The dog is thus encouraged to alert when any stranger appears and to attempt to attack, despite the fact that he is kept on leash. The trainer must never allow another person to pet or make friends with the dog, keeping in mind that he himself is the only friend that the dog must know; he is the only master.8

  It would seem, based on this account of a sentry dog’s handling, that these dogs could never be rehabilitated. Hamilton knew Dobermans to be smart, however, and fiercely loyal above all, possessing boundless and forgiving love for people. Certainly Fritz might be more loving to one man than another, but Hamilton believed the desire for companionship and praise would override any aggression he had learned. Fritz had lost his constant companion of the past three years and that was the hardest life for any dog—a life without a master, and thus without love. Hamilton hated to see any dog face that despair. The family was willing to take a chance on Fritz.

  Hut, still reeling from the pain of an unfulfilled reunion with his own dog, hoped Fritz might take his Doberman’s place at the foot of his bed, and he was disappointed to find that would never be possible because of the dog’s aloof demeanor. Probably due to the military life Fritz had led, he was slow to warm up to Hut and seemed to have a problem with children in general. Once Fritz lunged with full force at a boy in town who pulled out a pop gun from the waistband of his jeans. Fortunately, he had been on a leash and under Hamilton’s control at the time.

  For general safety Fritz remained on leash when in public for the rest of his life. At the farm however, Fritz was given free rein, and he took the opportunity to be a dog whenever he could. In his retirement he adored chasing rabbits, doing so with wild abandon. This is where Hut finally made a connection with Fritz, because he loved running those Virginia hills right alongside him. And over the years, the family found one thing that Fritz adored even more, a love which was rooted in the very nature of a Doberman. He lived to protect, and he needed an outlet for his unending devotion. He found his purpose with Hut’s grandmother.

  POST-WAR AND KOREA

  In 1946, the U.S. Quartermaster stopped accepting donated dogs into their military working dog program. This was not the end of the practice of using military working dogs but a drawdown of canine forces and a way of obtaining the best possible working dogs for the task. It was also a somewhat feeble attem
pt at addressing the problem of ownership and the bonds that naturally exist between people and the dogs they make their companions. Instead of relying on private citizens to give their pets away, the military would undertake a purchase program to buy the best examples of the desired breed from private breeders.9 This was a method the military had effectively employed throughout the country’s history with horses and mules, and they believed it would make the question of “ownership” less problematic. Further, in the post-war years, military officials couldn’t envision a future need for the various types of dogs used in World War II. They didn’t foresee another war on the scale of World War II and didn’t believe there was a need, in the immediate future, which would justify the cost of maintaining a war dog program. They planned to refine the process to include only German Shepherds, which had proved to be the most effective breed for the military’s purposes.

  Initially scout dogs, known for their ability to track down the enemy in advance of troops, were seen as largely unnecessary in a post-World War II world, in spite of their proven effectiveness in saving lives. Yet many senior military advisors warned against dropping the ball on preparedness, especially in regard to the nation’s incredibly effective canine program.10 Brigadier General Frederick McCabe advised the U.S. Quartermaster in 1946 to keep a war dog program in place and to expand training and breeding programs for scouts and sentries. Ultimately his recommendations were not fully realized, and there remained only a tiny group of scout dogs in America’s arsenal.11 Although they would bounce from post to post in the years leading up to the Korean conflict, the Twenty-Sixth Infantry Scout Dog Platoon became America’s go-to canine corps in Korea.

  The Twenty-Sixth moved from Front Royal, Virginia, to Fort Riley, Kansas, in 1948, two years before America entered the Korean conflict with full military involvement. As the “conflict” intensified, the U.S. military began to see the potential for a quagmire. As early as 1951, the seemingly endless, brutal, and bloody battles in Korea had reached a stalemate. Meanwhile, back home, many American people were turning a blind eye to American servicemen and their efforts on the Korean peninsula. Collectively, the nation seemed to find it difficult to stomach the idea of another extended U.S. military engagement.12 American generals on the ground in Korea, on the other hand, knew that in order to push beyond the stalemate at the Thirty-Eighth Parallel, there must be a full commitment of forces. Remembering the effectiveness of America’s K-9 units in World War II, they turned once again to the dogs.

  The Twenty-Sixth Scout Dog Platoon was a small contingent of roughly six dogs and six handlers and a young Lieutenant OIC (officer in charge). In the spring of 1951 they were called up and, upon their arrival in Korea, readily welcomed by the battle-tested Second Infantry Division. Many soldiers attached to the Second were comforted by the presence of the dogs in the Twenty-Sixth. Dogs are not only remarkable sniffers and the most amazing detecting devices; they are also deeply comforting in their nature. To see a dog in war or even better, to touch a dog, is a powerful and tangible reminder of home and better days. The Twenty-Sixth scouts proved effective on the front lines in Korea and were even awarded for their meritorious service, but perhaps their most important contribution to the war effort was their positive effect on the morale of beat-down GIs. How much the dogs’ emotional support made life more bearable for many living in the war zone was never fully appreciated by military officials.13

  MORALE DOGS

  The comfort soldiers receive from dogs in war has historically been under-appreciated by military officials, but ask any GI who has ever had contact with one in the war zone and he will tell you: dogs are some of the very best morale builders around.

  Perhaps military officials worried dogs were a distraction—in some ways, they were certainly right. Yet the type of distraction these four-legged companions offered was incredibly positive. In fact, dogs have consistently proven to be an effective means of psychological healing. The oral histories and photographs of returning veterans, for as long as there have been veterans, prove that dogs have been a comfort to many of the shell-shocked and battered.14

  One argument the military maintained against befriending stray dogs in the war zone was that they could spread disease to military members and therefore pose a greater threat than benefit to the soldiers. The risk of rabies, especially in underdeveloped countries where rabies often ran rampant, could be quite high. On the other hand, the safe, effective, and inexpensive rabies vaccine for humans had been used for many years prior to our nation’s involvement in Korea. It could easily have been argued that the vaccines should have been given to deploying troops anyway, since they were deploying to a region already rife with the disease. The risk of coming in contact with the disease from a rabid wild animal would be just as great as contracting it from a domestic dog or cat.

  Ultimately there was no way to stop military members from seeking the comfort stray dogs offered in war. Countless times the animals were taken in as a company mascot or battle companion in total disregard for the wishes of those higher on the chain of command. Many soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines, and coastguardsmen were willing to take the chance. Still, on odd occasions stories surfaced of the highest ranking member in the chain of command not only condoning mascots, but even going so far as to encourage their presence. These commanders were remembered by their subordinates with great affection.

  Even the compassionate commanders, however, were reluctant to make arrangements for morale dogs to be sent back to the United States once the war was over. In most cases, it could have been accomplished relatively easily by sending the dog aboard the homeward-bound ship with its adoptive soldier. This arrangement most likely wouldn’t have cost the Department of Defense anything, and even if it did, the soldiers were willing to pick up the cost themselves. Unfortunately, such arrangements were seldom made. The soldiers who adopted dogs in Korea usually contented themselves with hoping the dog would be cared for by another soldier coming behind him. Knowing how much the dog had improved his own morale, a soldier was usually willing to live with the arrangement.

  BENO

  One such little dog, Beno, went from pathetic stray to beloved member of the United States Navy just by being himself.

  A young sailor aboard the USS Leyte found a dog (or really, the dog found him) while in port in Yokosuka, Japan, and he couldn’t leave him behind. The aircraft carrier had been headed for Korea in the summer of 1950 and allowed a brief R&R for the sailors en route. This young sailor had spent the afternoon exploring the port, mostly alone, but shadowed by one very cute, very persistent stray dog. No matter where the sailor went throughout the day, the dog would not be shaken.

  In the evening, the sailor returned to the dock where he could catch a water taxi to the awaiting ship. The little dog followed. When he was discovered, the taxi driver told the sailor he was going to have to take the little dog aboard the awaiting ship because there was no way he was taking it back to the dock. The sailor looked at the driver and said, “That’s not my dog.”

  His dog or not, the little dog followed the sailor up the gangplank and right to the OIC. When the OIC asked about the dog the sailor replied, “He’s not my dog, he just follows me around. I can’t stop him.”

  “He can’t stay,” the OIC explained. “He’s got to go.”

  A higher ranking officer overheard the conversation and intervened. “He’s a nice dog,” the officer said. “I’m going over your head to the Old Man on this one.” The little dog sat and looked on patiently.

  And so it went, up the chain of command and right to the captain. The captain, being wise and knowing the positive effect a dog could have on everyone during an insufferably long deployment, commanded the junior officers to welcome the dog aboard.

  From then on, the confident little dog went everywhere aboard ship, always at his sailor’s side, but amenable to the love and snacks all the sailors offered. Collectively the men of the O-I Division decided his name should be “Beno,” because
for as long as he was aboard, there would “be no liberty and be no movies.”

  Kent Madenwald slept in the same berth compartment as the sailor and Beno. He remembered how much everyone loved the dog and would do anything just to be around him. The men made one bed for Beno in their sleeping compartment and another in the Combat Information Center (CIC) where they worked. The captain of Leyte made arrangements for Beno’s food to be brought in by helicopter, a pallet load at a time. Madenwald also remembers that someone made Beno his very own uniform, a perfect replica of what the men wore. As far as the men were concerned, that scrappy little dog was “one of us.”

  By the end of operations in Korea, Leyte had been in service for 128 consecutive days. They were detached from the Seventy-Seventh Task Force and given orders to return home. Beno was to stay on board with his sailor, through the Panama Canal and beyond, until they had reached their final destination in Virginia Beach.

  The entire Leyte crew was commended for their efforts during the Korean conflict, and Vice Admiral Struble came aboard to commend the captain and crew personally for their good work. A pinning ceremony was scheduled on deck, and Beno was, of course, in attendance. Unknown to Beno and all of his sailors, however, the admiral had heard of his good work as well. He had been the best morale boost the ship had ever seen, and for that Struble awarded Beno a “Good Sailor” certificate. Cheers went up aboard deck as Beno ran around barking and soaking up the festivities.

  When Beno and his sailor docked in Virginia Beach, they walked off together and were never heard from again. Kent Madenwald was sure, however, that Beno had a good home with his sailor for the rest of his days. The bond between the two had become completely unbreakable and, regardless of circumstance, the dog would never leave the sailor’s side. He also knew that Beno would live on in the hearts of all those sailors who served with him for the rest of their lives. They were thankful for Beno’s very presence in those difficult days on the Leyte, and so very grateful for the joy he brought into their lives.15