The big "Red Tail" Northwest Airlines DC8 out of Seattle settled slowly down into the clouds that were blocking my view of the first foreign country I had ever visited. Suddenly, as we were just starting to break out of the overcast, the pilot pulled the chartered DC8 sharply up and to the left almost in a wing-over maneuver that it was not supposed to do in normal circumstances. After we were settled back into level flight, the pilot came over the intercom and said he was sorry about that little incident. He then went on to explain that the tower had us on the wrong glide path and he came out of the clouds directly in line with the top of a mountain and had no choice. I thought that would have been a mess for my bride of twenty-seven days, whom I had left back in Leaksville, North Carolina, for her ASA husband to be splattered all over a hill top near Kimpo Airport. Hopefully the excitement level would drop off for the remainder of my thirteen-month tour of duty. When we were on the correct heading, and below the clouds for a change, I had a good look around on final approach. Rice paddies, thatched roofs, more rice paddies, and more thatched roofs, and then touchdown.

We were off-loaded and directed into a building where we formed the ubiquitous, and well understood by now, Army style "hurry-up-and-wait" lines. Sitting on a duffel bag listening to different destinations being called out was normal for me by now. Groups were forming up, being led out, and climbing into the back of Army round-nose trucks. Later on I was to become very familiar, and even enamored, of those six-wheel drive, go anywhere, do anything, "Duce-and-a-half" wonders that rode as hard as their four speed automatic transmissions shifted. Newer model Army trucks had little electric horns that went "Beep." The old round noses had loud air horns that screamed out to any local national who drove, or more likely stepped into the path of one, that a minimum of thirteen thousand pounds of instant death was bearing down on them. The air horns were very effective traffic movers when one was driving through Seoul and its environs, especially Yongdungpo.

There was an announcement that anyone bound for the Army Security Agency was to step forward. I was the only one that day, and I was met by a Korean driver who picked up my bag and led me out. The others looked at the PFC being escorted out, with his bag being carried for him of all things, and wondered what was up. Then when we got into an Army sedan I watched eyes of envy following us from the backs of hot trucks in that July the fifth hot afternoon day in 1966. The driver headed down what I was told was the MSR that led into Seoul. As I rode, I got a closer and much slower look the houses and other buildings clustered around the rice paddies in which people were bent over sticking rice plants into the water covered patties. It was pretty exotic stuff for a red neck from a little textile town in the northern Piedmont region of North Carolina. There the farm fields were almost always tobacco with some corn, mostly for cattle feed, thrown in here and there for good measure.

Looking at the scenery unfold, I could not help but compare the living conditions in Korea with what I had experienced all through my life. My family was not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination, but it was clear from our life style that this one-year and a month sojourn in Korea was to be an education not to be acquired any other way. I began to look forward to the experience, and was not to be disappointed later. I had been indoctrinated into the ASA mystique of being from the "Top ten percent," and began to wonder where we were based.

We were on an elevated section of the MSR, and I noticed to my right what was obviously a US military compound as there was an American flag waving from the pole in a small quadrangle. It was so small the entire, somewhat shabby-looking, expanse of the base could be seen from the road. The quadrangle was in the middle of a bunch of mostly Quonset huts, and there was a small fenced-in area with a guard and gate off in the corner behind which was located a small swimming pool of all things. What poor unfortunate bunch of guys lived there I wondered? A short ways further down the MSR, the driver made an exit to the right, passed by the reeking "Benjo" (public toilet) and made another right turn at the traffic circle. It was then I started to fear that I was headed for that "shabby-looking" little base, and I may be one of those "unfortunates" who lived along the MSR. My fears were confirmed when the driver turned into the compound gate and was waved through past a big sign that read "Sylvester Club." After finally being directed to Quonset hut T-19 with all of the other comm center rats, I settled into my thirteen month role as a 32G-20 Fixed Crypto Repairman. We worked in the other similar "T" ("temporary") bunch of Quonset huts in the back corner by the pool where the Operations Center was located. Welcome to South Korea, and Headquarters Company of the 508 US Army Security Agency!

Ken Hughes, August 24, 2001