It took two years to find him. When Bakken finally reached Rath by telephone, the two were elated. They made plans for Rath to come up to Bakken’s house and plan a reunion. When the two men finally got together, they reminisced for five straight hours. They pulled out boxes of photos and told old stories. They formed a solid plan to pull the men together again. Bakken knew where Stahlke was in North Dakota, and both men were sure they knew where to find Peterson; he had never gone far from the little hometown he and Bakken shared.
Eddie and Judy Rath shared a long and sweet marriage. They only had one minor argument, in fact, during their many years together. Rath could be very conservative, and honest to a fault, which some people could find offensive. But he loved his family and friends in such a way that he would move heaven and earth to help them. Judy often laughed at her Eddie, who could remember every detail of the life he shared with the men and dogs of the 8125th but had a hard time remembering the names of people he had been acquainted with for decades. He loved those men and dogs, and both had earned his lifelong devotion.
When Rath called Stahlke and told him about the plans for a reunion, the reserved former handler, who never did much outside the family home, blurted out in pure joy, “I’ll be there!” His wife, Mary-Ann, was shocked to hear his reaction, but she knew that he had a soft spot for the men and the dogs. She felt it would be good for him and supported his going every step of the way. She had heard the story about Junker jumping to get to his handler until he died of a broken heart many times. She knew that her husband needed to fill the hole that tragic ending had left in his life. It had haunted him, but he had shared it with no one else. She could see it come out from time to time, like when he asked the couple’s son-in-law to put down his beloved mini Collie; he couldn’t stand the horrific memories he knew that act would trigger. MaryAnn hoped that he could release those demons in the safety of the brotherhood.
Rath and Bakken next went in search of Peterson. They started by walking into a small dive bar, somewhere between Milan and Arcadia, Wisconsin, joking that there probably was not a bar in that county Peterson had not graced with his presence.
Rath announced, “I’m looking for a Curt Peterson. Anybody know him?”
A woman sitting at the bar turned around with a smile. “Curt Peterson is my dad.” She called him right then. Peterson then led them to another member of the 8125th who had been his best friend in Korea, Leonard Pierzyna.
Pierzyna lived in the small town of Arcadia, Wisconsin, not too far from Milan. Rath and Bakken set out right away for Arcadia. Driving down a residential street, not knowing exactly where to start, they saw a mail carrier standing by a residential mailbox. The men discussed it and agreed that if anyone would know a name like Pierzyna, it would be a postal employee. They approached the woman, startling her a little and causing her to look at them suspiciously.
Bakken spoke to her first, with his trademark twinkle. “Hey we’re looking for a guy that we figure is the town drunk.”
The woman smiled.
“Do you know a Leonard Pierzyna?” Rath asked.
Catching both men completely off-guard, the woman hugged them. “That’s my husband. And who the hell are you?”
The men’s explanation for why they were there brought tears to the woman’s eyes. She told them that her husband was in a nursing home and not doing well. She would tell him right away all about how the men were coming together again, but she didn’t know if he would understand. Dementia had ravaged his mind at that point. But before he fell ill, he had talked all the time about Korea, and the men and the dogs. Later the men would find out that Pierzyna had heard and understood. He was delighted that the men would be together again. He even hoped a miracle might happen so he could be there, too. Sadly, that did not happen. He died not long after, but he had peace knowing that his brotherhood was still intact.
From these initial first contacts, word of the reunion spread. Most of the handlers had kept in touch with at least one of their closest friends throughout the years and would pass the word along. Some men, however, would never be found. They had vanished into their own lives, maybe removed from what happened in Korea, but most likely not unaffected. Garfield felt no connection to the men and dogs and refused to attend.
Slaughter, the only black man in the unit, had always felt segregated. Poole had been close to him in Korea but now was unable to reach out to him. Falge did reach Slaughter and extended an invitation to the reunion, but Slaughter declined. He felt he didn’t belong.
Chan didn’t find out about this inaugural reunion until a couple years later. It was no fault of his own. He had not been hiding and was missing them as much as they missed him. The search for him had gone down many false paths because his brothers were searching for someone under the wrong name—it was an identity they had created for him during their time together, and not the actual person. In fact, they had called him “Chin” for so long that Chan had started referring to himself that way, every time he talked about Korea.
15
HOME
The first reunion of the 8125th Korea 1954–1955, held in Omaha, Nebraska, in 2004, included nearly half of the original dog handlers. The wives came along, and over the years sometimes adult children also came, hoping to learn more about this mysterious and influential part of their loved ones’ lives.
Most of the men agreed that their time in Korea had affected their entire lives. It made them different. Whatever age they might have been when they came to the 8125th, all said that they “grew up” in Korea. It had been a transforming experience. The stories that unfolded on that first night in 2004 gave many of the family members the answers they had long sought. It was the first time many of the men felt safe to talk about the realities of war. It was the first time many were able to discuss the atrocious poverty they witnessed in Korea, and the hardship of being so bonded with a dog and then having that most trusted partner and friend ripped from them in an instant.
The men recalled the funny stories, too. Fickes had been a child in Korea, and he was the one who grew up the most. Broadway and Chan had always kept everybody in stitches. Everyone was surprised that Garfield made it out alive. Hatch told everyone about letting the dog loose on the two lovers in the Jeep. Although the laughter rolled on, as one man after another recounted some hilarious tale, they all knew that these were more than humorous anecdotes. These were the stories of their survival.
Having focused the entire evening on the experiences that the men shared among themselves, Paulus became visibly irritated. He needed to interject, to mention the elephant in the room and remind everyone that they wouldn’t be there if it were not for the dogs. “You’re eighteen years old and you get your dog and your life is changed forever. Those dogs offered to lay down their lives for us every day.”
On the last night of their four-day reunion, at the closing ceremony, Stewart shared something he had written to honor the men and dogs of the 8125th. He had created a roll call, “A Tribute to the Silent Sentries.” These were the names of the men and dogs who had already passed on. Like Paulus, he recognized that they owed their lives, and the lives of the resulting generations, to the dogs.
During the same closing ceremony, Hatch presented the men with a ritual. It was to be kept as an honored tradition until the very last reunion. A fine bottle of cognac was opened and each man presented a shot. They would, as a group, pray and give thanks for those who had gone before. They would read the roll call of the silent sentries, and in the end they would swallow the shot in memory of the family members, canine and human, who had gone before them. They agreed that the last man standing, at the last reunion, would drink the last bottle of cognac dry. Finally, someone found and read an anonymous poem befitting the occasion and honoring the dogs called “Guardians of the Night.”
AFTERWORD
No one can say for certain what happened to the dogs of the 8125th. It was rumored that the very best would go to the Republic of Korea Army, but no on
e ever actually saw the transition. The men hoped that at least the dogs with warrior prowess, like Simpson’s Grey, got picked up. They knew all too well that to the Koreans, even the best examples of military working dogs would never be trusted friends and companions, but only military weapons to be feared. “Tame” dogs like Stewart’s Duchess and Chan’s Prinz probably never had a chance.
In 2015, however, Harlan received the most promising news any of the men had yet heard regarding the fate of the dogs in Korea. Chuck Powell reached what had been the 8125th at Yong Dong Po shortly after the men had been forced to leave their beloved K-9 partners behind. He was an MP whose duty was to guard the perimeter of the remaining American property on that installation. When he arrived, he found a few beautiful and attentive German Shepherds hanging around the area. He was told they had once been sentry dogs for the 8125th. Powell, a dog lover who wasn’t excited about the thought of long night patrols alone, decided to take one of the friendliest of the dogs along with him. He later told Harlan that the dog became a great friend, and he hated that he had to leave him behind when his rotation in Korea was finished.
By 1956, one small pocket of military dog training continued in Showa (Tachikawa), Japan, supplying dogs to the Asian theater.1 Their role remained primarily that of sentry dogs until the beginning of American involvement in Vietnam. In 1964, the standard dog training had moved to Lackland Air Force Base, Texas, and sentries, scouts, and patrol/detection dogs were all utilized in the conflict. The Army still viewed the dogs as nothing more than military equipment, so there was no exact count kept of the dogs sent into the war zone until 1968. The official count of dogs (those tattooed and fully accounted for) who served in Vietnam is 3,747. It is believed that the actual number is closer to 5,000 across all branches of the armed forces. Close to 10,000 dog handlers deployed with the dogs, making the ten years of American involvement in Vietnam the greatest concentrated effort of military working dogs in the nation’s history. Of the nearly 5,000 dogs in Vietnam, only 204 left; none ever returned to civilian life. Most were either euthanized or turned over to the South Vietnamese Army (ARVN). Sadly, the Vietnamese saw the dogs just as the Koreans had: they feared them and did not trust them.2
As American involvement in foreign wars continued throughout the years, dogs remained present, guarding and protecting American interests at home and abroad. During Operation Desert Storm and Desert Shield, 118 Military Working Dog teams were deployed.3 By this time the U.S. military had learned some lessons about the care and treatment of dogs, and the policy was that the dogs would return with their handlers to the bases and posts from which they came at the end of their service. This wasn’t hard to accomplish, since the ground war was short-lived.
Still, the question remained: what was the life of a military working dog worth to the Department of Defense? Were the dogs still considered military equipment? The handlers who bonded with them on unimaginably deep levels knew that these dogs were fellow soldiers, friends, and invaluable tools who deserved a good quality of life. Military brass and bureaucracy had not yet come full circle in recognizing the needs and rights of military working dogs.
By September 11, 2001, the nation had become more aware of the invaluable service of military working dogs. Dogs sifted tirelessly through the rubble at Ground Zero, and soon after more dogs went to war, protecting our sons and daughters in Afghanistan and Iraq. Science had also, by this time, illustrated some truths about dogs which our nation’s dog handlers already knew. By now science had given us a much better idea of just how vast a dog’s emotional and intellectual IQ truly is. Now we understand that separation anxiety is equally as devastating for a dog as it is for a human child at age two.4 Researchers also began to understand that post-traumatic stress is a very real problem for dogs who serve in war, or in a tragedy such as 9/11. Moreover, researchers began to publish findings that dogs have an unrivaled therapeutic success rate for humans who suffer from PTSD. Despite the publication of these findings and growing public awareness, dogs were still being left in war zones, separated from their handlers or brought home and not allowed to retire.
In 1983, former scout dog handler Master Sergeant (Ret.) John C. Burnam left the Army, but he could never leave the memories of his time in Vietnam with his dogs, Clipper and Timber. At the end of his service in Vietnam, he had been ordered simply to walk away from Clipper. His heartbreaking story was not unique. Thousands of dog handlers had faced this heartbreaking situation on leaving their tour of duty. In his retirement, Burnam decided to take action and bring honor to the dogs. For thirty years he sought out legislators who were sympathetic to the plight of military working dogs and handlers. He wanted to build a national monument to honor the service of canines and handlers, across all branches of service, breeds, and wars in which they had served.
The dedication of the National Monument of U.S. Military Working Dog Teams took place on October 28, 2013, at Lackland Air Force Base. Thousands attended the opening, and it was an incredible moment for those who had loved and lost, as well as those who continued to work with dogs. Three years later, almost to the day, the remaining men of the 8125th met at Lackland for their sixty-first annual reunion. The sight of the monument brought tears to their eyes. At last their dogs had received the recognition they deserved for their service to our nation.
In Burnam’s pursuit of a national monument, many issues facing military working dogs and handlers came to light. These issues were brought to Capitol Hill for resolution. Dogs and handlers were still being senselessly separated. Many dogs, in spite of their inability to perform their assigned jobs (perhaps because they had become “tame” or had suffered PTSD) were kept on until they died or had to be euthanized. For many years, dogs with military experience were sold to police stations throughout the United States so they could continue working. This was not always a bad thing, as the dogs brought unmatched expertise to the job, but often the dogs were physically spent after years of demanding work. Americans began to call for legislation to remedy these problems.
As a result, today military working dogs are better protected and cared for. Legislation ensures they will never be left behind or abandoned again. The Air Force’s 341st Training Squadron, Thirty-Seventh Training Wing, is now the permanent home of all MWD training, breeding, and adoptions of former (and wash-out) K-9s. The standard of training is set at Lackland, and the dogs are closely monitored for service in all branches of service and federal law enforcement agencies. A stringent breeding program is in place there, and the qualities most valued in MWDs are fostered and nurtured. If a dog doesn’t make it through training, there are adoption procedures, monitored and maintained by the 341st, to ensure the dogs find healthy forever homes. The dogs returning from service are now offered up for adoption so they can retire and live the rest of their lives in comfort. Former handlers have priority for adoption.
An eternal brotherhood.
The dogs: the Silent Sentries of the 8125th Sentry Dog Detachment Korea. They were loved beyond measure.
The men of the 8125th and their family members continue their annual reunions, though sadly, with each passing year the list of attendees dwindles. Chan lost his wife, Leonore, in 2016. Simpson also recently passed away. Many of the men are dealing bravely with serious health issues. All continue to live their lives with dignity and courage. No one knows when the last reunion will be, but the bottle of cognac will be there, and the roll call of the Silent Sentries will be read. Now, even when that last reunion is over, the memories of the men and dogs of the 8125th will live on.
NOTES
All photos are courtesy of the personal collections of the men of the 8125th Sentry Dog Detachment Korea.
ONE: WAR DOGS
1.Michael G. Lemish, War Dogs: A History of Loyalty and Heroism (Washington D.C.: Brassey’s Press, 1996), 1. Michael Lemish’s War Dogs gives a general history of Military Working Dogs throughout history focusing mainly on the role of war dogs during WWII and Vietnam.
; 2.Susan Orlean, Rin Tin Tin: The Life and the Legend (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2011), 149.
3.The so-called most aggressive breeds, and the breeds ultimately used most frequently in WWII, were the Doberman Pinscher (used mainly in the Pacific for scouting) and the German Shepherd (used mostly in the U.S., and by the Coast Guard, for sentry duty).
4.Lemish, 41.
5.Lemish, 145.
6.Lemish, 143. The official statement from Dogs for Defense at the end of the war read, “We feel that the place for a K9 veteran is in a home and not in some kennel or an Army post.” Lemish explains that the War Department finally came out with official policy in 1945 regarding the disposal of “surplus dogs.” Their disposal should be handled in the following order: 1. They could be issued to Seeing Eye Inc as perspective seeing eye dogs. 2. They could be issued to a military organization as a mascot. 3. Dogs could be made available to servicemen who had handled them in service. 4. They could be sold by the Procurement Division of the Treasury Department. Lemish goes on to say, “Although DFD offered its services to place all surplus dogs not returned to their original owners, by law, as government property, they needed to be sold.” This idea of dogs being equipment, instead of living beings, would plague the U.S. military until modern times.
7.Hut Vass was a small boy when this Doberman was alive. The story comes from his personal oral history and he was unable to remember the dog’s name. He could, however, vividly remember the dog sitting quietly at church, waiting for his Grandmother to arrive.
8.The Danville Register Bee Fritz Takes Up Residence After Army Service.
9.Private breeders were, by the beginning of the Korean War, offered $100 for a single dog if that dog fit their guidelines for temperament and conformation.
10.Risch and Keiffer, The Quartermaster Corps: Organization, Supply, and Services, p. 38.
K-9 Korea Page 16
