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A Life-Saving, Life-Enriching Lie
By R J Rummel (07/30/05)
Today is the anniversary of the end of the Korean War. To me it is the most important anniversary of my life. In 1950, I was headed for Korea as a medic, with a stop over on September 5 at Camp Zama in Japan for my unit assignment. This was a time when the North Korean Army had launched an all out offensive against the Pusan perimeter, which outgunned American and South Korean forces were holding on to with their fingernails. It was a deadly time for medic, with a life expectancy in days, if not hours.
If I had been thrown into this battle, I'm sure I would not be here today.
But, youthful white lies saved me. Soon after I joined the army an officer who sought to classify my Military Occupation Specialty (MOS) asked me what my civilian occupation was. Well, eighteen years of age, I greatly exaggerated my job as a "stationary riveter" on a stove-making assembly line. Since this job had no reference in the job classification books the army used, the officer asked for details. A reader of science fiction, I elaborated a task that simply involved stuffing the sides of stoves with insulation and riveting them together. As best I can remember, I responded, “I took these stoves . . . electric stoves . . . and I built in a wiring with insulation so that its molecular structure matched the design implications of the system . . . the electrons had to flow around it when the electricity passed through it . . . . then I riveted the sides together. Ah . . . sir.”
“That’s all?” the officer asked.
“I had to make sure the atomic structure was stable when the electrons hit it . . . ah, when the stove was turned on,” I finished. One of the science fiction stories I had just read in Astounding Stories involved the repair of a spaceship that had been attacked by an alien fleet. I just lifted a few of the words from it. Why not? No harm done , I thought.
After some thought, the officer then wrote something down, which I found out later was “engineer, undesignated,” meaning I could fill the need for any engineer. So, of course, being the Army at that time, it sent me to an ambulance battalion for basic training as a medic.
So, at Camp Zama in Japan, I was pulled out of the huge group of soldiers being rushed to Korea, and assigned to fill a vacancy for an engineer with the 64th Engineering Battalion in Shinjuku, Tokyo. The 64th was involved in making maps from reconnaissance aircraft tapes for United Nations forces in Korea. Very technical. Obviously engineering stuff. And that's what my MOS said I was. But, the battalion’s personnel officer first assigned me to the motor pool repair shop. Hardly a job worthy of my “engineer” MOS, but the officer must have also looked into my record beyond that and saw that I didn’t even have a high school diploma. What does one do with such a person in a highly technical battalion? It’s into the motor pool, of course.
It took only a couple of days for the sergeant in charge to realize how totally ignorant I was in repairing and servicing trucks and jeeps, and my near accidents while trying to maneuver a jeep around the motor pool showed that I couldn’t even drive. The sergeant exchanged words with the personnel officer, and I was told to report to his new assignment in the battalion’s graphics department.
I was supposed to work on the battalion yearbook, but he only drove the Japanese civilian responsible for this project into un-Japanese, undiplomatic language. “ Baka! —idiot! Baka! ” the man would yell. “Photos not straight. Chikishou —damn. Block print bad—not lined.”
“Aligned,” I would correct.
Within three weeks, I was again reassigned. This time the personnel officer assigned me to the machine repair shop, presumably to oversee the work of Japanese repair technicians. I didn’t have to know anything or say anything, for the technicians did all the necessary repair work on the machinery. The personnel officer must have known this. All I had to do was have pliers or a screwdriver in my hand when an officer was around. Otherwise, I read. It was a duty I handled well for over two years.
Being in an engineering battalion, I was surrounded by technicians who had a college education, some with M.A. degrees. Before enlisting in the Army, I had never known anyone who completed high school, including my parents and all my relatives. So, by way of interacting with these technicians, I soon realized that there was not that much difference between us, and due to my avid reading of science fiction and the vocabulary and knowledge of science it gave me, I could hold my own in conversations with them. So, I decided to take the military tests for the equivalent of a high school degree, studied for it, passed, and used that to get into college on the GI Bill when I was discharged in 1953.
Incredible. A little exaggeration at the right time saved me from being sent into battle at its most deadly time for medics, thereby doubtlessly saved my life, and led by way of the engineering battalion to which I was assigned, college, graduate work, and my dear visitors, eventually this blog.
Original Blog 7-27-05
(Printer friendly version) Email: R J Rummel
R.J. Rummel is a Professor Emeritus of Political Science. He has published twenty-four nonfiction books (one that received an award for being among the most referenced), four novels, and about 100 peer-reviewed professional articles; has received the Susan Strange Award of the International Studies Association in 1999 for having intellectually most challenged the field; and in 2003 was awarded the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Conflict Processes Section, American Political Science Association. He was a 1996 Nobel Peace Prize finalist.
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United Progressive Socialist States of America
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