He was being sarcastic, of course.
When the ship finally arrived in San Francisco harbor in mid-December, the men were ready to enjoy their hard-earned rest. They would travel by bus to Fort Ord for in-processing before receiving leave just in time for Christmas. Many of the men, like Stewart, were released at Fort Ord because their enlistment time was up, but others still had time left in service. Of the ones still left with time to serve, a small group, which included Fickes and Hatch (who eventually transferred into the Air Force), stayed in the Army and made a career out of it.
The men had become brothers. They knew that now they would go their separate ways, and though it was an exciting time for all of them, they realized this meant they would be dividing the 8125th family once again. They vowed to keep in touch. The men agreed they owed it to the dogs to stay intact as best they could.
Stewart arrived home on Christmas Eve. The time together with his family was good, but he couldn’t deny that he missed his friends. His plan after getting out of the Army was to go to college and maybe even play football. He didn’t know when or how he would see them all again, but he looked forward to that day.
Fickes stayed at Camp Carson for a while after returning from Korea. The Army dog training program there had been amalgamated with the Twenty-Fifth Infantry Scout Dog Platoon, and Fickes carried on with his dog training career.1 There were no sentries to train, but Fickes had proven himself in obedience handling so he was chosen to be a part of the unit’s demonstration team instead. In that job, he went around with a Doberman Pinscher and a Cocker Spaniel, showing America that war dogs have lots of different capabilities besides guarding and attack. In fact, it was these dogs that proved once again to American military brass that the scouting abilities of dogs were an invaluable asset to our national defense. They would be the reason that all branches of the service would eventually adopt large-scale scout dog programs in the future. And it was the Labrador retrievers and German Shepherds who were later adopted into this training program, who saved countless lives in Vietnam with their tracking, sniffing, and bomb detecting capabilities.
A few months after getting back to Camp Carson, Fickes received a letter from a vet-tech named Jewel Lingus, who had remained behind after the 8125th left Korea. Reporting on Duke, Lingus wrote that the dog had a good handler (likely a member of the Military Police, not a trained handler, who took on the dog unofficially) and was doing well. This brought Fickes some peace of mind. As he read on though, he discovered the true purpose of the letter. Lingus wrote, “I hate to have to tell you this, but I know you would want to know. Katie and Ben were very lonely without you and couldn’t be controlled. Someone shot and killed them. It was probably better for them in the end anyway.”
Fickes’s heart broke all over again. He knew Katie could be controlled. She had, after all, slept in his tent, under his bunk. Ben had slept in his own dog house in the kennel compound, shaded from the summer sun and insulated against the cold winter months. Neither of the dogs was ever any meaner than the rest of the sentries. Katie and Ben had been valuable assets to the 8125th, and this disregard for their service was more than Fickes could stand. From that bitter moment on, his heart was no longer in handling dogs. In December 1956, he was released from active duty in the United States Army. He went on to use his GI Bill for school and to buy a little house in Colorado. He married, divorced, and then married the love his life, Pat, who had two kids of her own. He worked in the Post Office and eventually retired from there. But the hole he had in his heart from leaving his dogs in Korea—and especially from knowing what happened to Katie and Ben—left him lonely for someone who could understand the depth of that grief.
Benevenga had left Katie and Ben in Fickes’s care when he left Korea. His military working dog had been handed over to one of the other very competent handlers in the 8125th. After being treated for his burns in Japan, he went back to the United States and was honorably discharged from the Army. After leaving the Army, he went back to school as he had always planned. But Benevenga never worried about his dogs because he knew they were in good hands. He even thought he might be able to return to Camp Carson in a year or two and visit Grey. He never did return, however, because he moved on with life, and as he would learn many years later, Grey and the other dogs never returned.
Ben went on to earn a Ph.D. in nutritional science. He did postdoctoral work at MIT and later become a professor of animal sciences at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. He and his wife settled there, and he conducted ground-breaking research on the metabolism of baby pigs, which would later benefit human preemies. But Benevenga often wondered about the place he had left in such a hurry and the dear friends, canine and human, who had helped form his character and changed his life forever. It was easy to lose touch with his brothers as life took them in different directions, but he missed them. In an attempt to reconnect, he went back to Korea to see if he could feel the ghosts of the men and dogs he had shared that space with so long ago.
Simpson came home and got out of the Army at the end of his enlistment. He used his GI Bill to attend graduate school for chemical engineering. While in school he met a beautiful girl named Shirley, who talked about horses and her dream to have a farm of her own. She also talked incessantly about her sorority’s mascot, a giant, ill-mannered oaf of a St. Bernard. None of the girls had been able to do anything with the dog. He slobbered and peed wherever he pleased, mowed people over when excited, and in general wouldn’t do a thing he was told. She knew that Simpson had been a dog handler in Korea and asked him if he thought anything could be done about the beast. Wanting to get a little extra time with her, Simpson guaranteed that if he spent enough time with the dog, he could whip him into shape.
The dog was incorrigible, and despite all his skills Simpson was only ever able to make the dog manageable. But his lack of complete success with the mascot didn’t cause the girl to lose interest in him. In fact, Simpson and the girl fell in love, and a few years later they got married, bought a farm, and had a few kids, horses, and dogs to make the place home.
Simpson always retained his love for dogs, but he never stopped comparing them to Grey. No dog ever matched the level of love and respect he had for his old partner. Over the years he thought about Grey and the demonstration he performed for the general. He wondered if Grey ever made it the general’s complex or if he wasted away in the kennels, looking for Simpson’s return.
Chan got out of the Army at the end of his enlistment and moved back to California near his family. He met a woman named Leonore and they had two kids. The romance which once had seemed so promising between Chan and Mary Jay had proven to be nothing more than a flirtation. This was fully realized when Chan met Leonore, whom he would call the love of his life. He worked a job until retirement and then, in spite of having cancer, lived his life to the fullest. He thought about the guys often and wondered where life had taken them. Because of the power he had witnessed in the sentry dogs, he never connected with a dog again.
Mary Jay Osler had lost contact with Chan while he was still in Korea. He had many flirtations then, and the absence of her letters went largely unnoticed by him. He remembered her, though, throughout his life, because she had been his connection to Prinz. For her, school and extra-curricular activities, even other boys (as her father had feared) drew her away from her interest in the handler and Prinz. She went on, after high school, to pursue a career in acting, and she even ended up on Broadway and worked with stars like Peter Ustinov, Christopher Plummer, and Joanne Woodward. Mary Jay regarded Pete with nostalgic fondness throughout the years, telling people she knew, “I think I might have been in love with him.”
Hatch made a career out of the military, but not in the Army. After returning from Korea, he was supposed to work with the scout dogs at Carson, but a surprise change of orders diverted him to the First Infantry Division at Fort Riley, Kansas, instead. He had heard many times that the Air Force treated their personnel better than the Arm
y. After the bad taste left in his mouth by Korea, he was inclined to believe that to be true. So after getting an honorable discharge from the Army, he joined the Utah Air National Guard in 1958. In the Guard he worked on NORAD radar sites and developed a skill set which would be in high demand in the Vietnam War. In 1968 he was called to active duty and sent to Thailand as a radar tech in support of the country’s mission in Vietnam. He retired from the Air Force as a master sergeant after almost thirty years of combined military service.
In 1975 Hatch met his wife, an American school teacher on Ramstein Air Force Base, Germany. He had three children from a previous marriage, but Hatch and Dalene never had kids. Instead, they had several small breed dogs throughout their life together, who were just as much their babies as any human could have been. Hatch loved his little dogs. He could never consider having another German Shepherd—the breed always reminded him of Willy, and it was difficult for him to think about “replacing” him.
Melochick stayed in the Army and made a career of it. After returning home, he transferred from the Doggies to Logistics, went to Vietnam in the 1970s, and retired after more than twenty years. In spite of his poor family life as a child, Melochick managed to raise a close-knit family of his own. The Army had given him the rearing that he had not had growing up, providing him stability, financial peace, and an education to support his family. For that, he gave the service all the credit. He felt molded, although sometimes by fire, as a soldier. The brothers he had in the 8125th were a natural extension of that family, and he thought of them often throughout the years. Because of his time in Korea with Warrior, he kept dogs in his family circle too.
Broadway was discharged from the Army at Fort Ord right after returning from Korea. He flew home to Texas right away and was there to spend Christmas with his family. Less than a month after getting home, he found a great job at a local bank and worked his way up in the company as an appraiser, then a loan officer, then a building inspector, until he started handling investments. In 1957 he married his sweetheart, Pat, and they had three children, one of which was stillborn. Broadway lost Pat to a sudden and unexpected brain hemorrhage in 1976. Two years after Pat’s death, he married a woman he had counted as a friend for twenty years, Gerry. After they married he told everyone he had been twice blessed with two wonderful women.
Broadway thought of the men he had served with in the 8125th often. He wondered if he would ever see them again, especially Chan, and hoped they were all well. He managed over time to keep the dead Korean out of his thoughts. He chose instead to celebrate life. Remembering Sam, and how he had left him happy and cared for in Korea, was always a source of comfort to him. He never told anyone his secret, preferring to keep that sweet memory all to himself.
Fowler stayed in the military for a few more years, then got out and went to college in Backus, Minnesota, in 1966. After college he took a mining job, where he worked for twenty years. When he retired from mining, he continued to work maintenance for the town of Embarrass, Minnesota, for another twenty-two years. In the meantime he found a passion for weather observation and began reporting for nationally syndicated programs such as Jimmy Kimmel, Brian Matthew, and Garrison Keillor. Community service also held a valuable place in his life. He served on the school board, the town fair board, and the credit union board. Fowler continued to serve his fellow veterans by honoring them in the color guard at funerals.
One month after getting out of the Army, Fowler bought a dog, a Golden Retriever. He couldn’t imagine life without one by his side. Dogs had saved his life in Korea, and they had been the most loyal companions he had ever known. This retriever, the best hunting dog he ever had, was the first in a long line of dogs to come. Fowler lost contact with the other handlers after coming home from Korea, but through his fellowship with other dogs throughout his life, he felt like he would always have a connection to Smokey.
Paulus left Korea after eighteen months, remaining there a few months longer than the rest, and came home in the summer of 1956. At Siheung, South Korea, where Paulus and Fritz ended up, the kennels were a half mile from the barracks. With the time constraint, there was no way he could get to his dog to say good-bye and be at the ship on time. His heart ached as he thought of Fritz languishing in the kennels, and a wave of immense guilt washed over him. He was filled with rage at the Army for forcing this horrific situation on him.
Paulus knew, having worked on the demo team, that the dogs would end up in the hands of the Koreans. In the years following his time in Korea, he dealt with sadness and rage over what happened to the dogs. He moved on with life as best he could, going to college, marrying Corrine, and having three beautiful children. Over the years he worked in a wide variety of career fields, even becoming a Methodist minister later in life.
Still, Fritz haunted him. The former dog handler couldn’t consider getting another dog for a long time because it felt like a betrayal. As he got older, however, he started to realize that the very presence of a dog, a German Shepherd specifically, might be what he needed to heal and reconcile with what had happened. He started looking into adopting a former military working dog through the Air Force’s Military Working Dog (MWD) adoption program. As a former handler he should have had preference, but other factors trumped that, especially his advanced age, and he was denied adoption privileges.2 He was crushed all over again.
Paulus prayed about what he should do, asking God to give him a sign or send him a message. Not long after this, the message barreled into his life in the form of a German Shepherd. She literally bounded into his living room and sat at his feet. She was beautiful, and Paulus figured she must belong to someone. Sure enough, his local vet had her in the system. She was a neighbor’s dog who had gotten loose. Paulus had hoped to keep her, but he wasn’t as downtrodden as he thought he might be, having to give her back. Instead, the dog made him hopeful. He started looking into German Shepherd rescues, and within months he welcomed a dog into his home. She was a perfect match for their family with her gentle spirit. She also needed the guidance and nurturing Paulus was expert at giving to dogs. He knew that giving this wonderful dog a good home was a way of honoring Fritz.
Batson went to Colorado. Wooden went home to California. So did Falge. Slaughter took off in a direction no one knew. The last anyone heard, he had gone to Texas. Garfield was rumored to have married and gone to live in a remote cabin in Alaska. Mardunkle, from what the other handlers gleaned over the years, went home and drank himself to death. Another handler, Garner, made a high-profile career out of his dog-handling skills. He went to Hollywood after Korea and trained dogs for the show Green Acres. Later in life he would train several dogs to fill the role of Beethoven in the series of movies by the same name.
Gerry Ballanger, Prinz’s first owner, remained in Bangor, Maine. He worked as a high school guidance counselor for many years, choosing a meager salary in order to work with kids. His salary never allowed for training and showing dogs as he had dreamed. Prinz was the first of his dogs to be sold to the military; two more followed after him. Most significant of the other dogs was Pharaoh, Prinz’s son. Pharaoh was inducted into the United States Air Force about a year after his sire went into the Army. He also worked as a sentry dog, and his handler, Airman Samuel Yoder, once told Gerry, “Pharaoh was the best sentry dog that ever lived.” Pharaoh remained stateside, in North Carolina, throughout his career, transferring to at least one more handler after Yoder.
Yoder had bonded on a deep level with Pharaoh and hoped to bring him home for retirement when he was no longer able to work. However, according to new military policy, Military Working Dogs were considered surplus equipment, which would stay in America’s defense arsenal until death.3
BAKKEN, PETERSON, RATH, AND STAHLKE
Bakken returned to his regular life in Milan, Minnesota, after Korea. He married his sweetheart and had kids. The couple also had dogs. Weimaraners, with their quiet and aloof disposition, became the family’s favorite breed. His time with the
Military Working Dogs had given Bakken a healthy respect for dogs and what they were capable of. He kept his distance from all dogs he didn’t know because he had seen firsthand the destructive power a dog can unleash on an unfamiliar man. He never wanted to risk being that victim.
Bakken and Rath had been best friends throughout their time in Korea. Many people, seeing them together, thought they were brothers. After Korea they went their separate ways, but they promised to stay in contact, which they did. Almost every day Bakken thought about his brothers, especially Rath, and wondered what had become of them. Once on a trip to Black Hills, South Dakota, Bakken saw a highway sign pointing travelers to Laurel, Nebraska. It was close. Bakken told his wife, Kitty, that Rath was from that town. He wondered, “What are the chances he’s still there?” Kitty gave him the look of approval he had grown to understand. He told her, “I’ve got to try.”
The couple drove into the parking lot of what looked like a popular Laurel restaurant. Bakken figured it was such a small town, the kind where everybody knows everybody else’s business, that the chances were excellent someone would know Eddie Rath. It was no surprise to find many people who did know Rath and his family. The surprise was that Rath and his wife, Judy, had moved to the big city of Omaha. Bakken went back home committed to continuing his search.
It was in this search for Rath that Bakken developed an idea. The men had been such a huge part of each other’s lives, and he knew that he couldn’t be the only one who missed that fraternity. He thought of the dogs and how difficult it had been to leave them. It was a thought that had crossed his mind many times throughout the years. He knew that only his fellow handlers could understand the shared suffering of Korea, and leaving the dogs behind. Bakken came to a conclusion: they needed a reunion to heal and be whole again. He would start his search for his brothers with the information he had about Rath living in Omaha.
K-9 Korea Page 15
