A Trip to Seoul

D. E. Larsen, DVM

There was a chill in the air as Truman, and I walked over to the motor pool in the dark.

“Who’s idea was it to leave at this hour?” Truman asked.

“They changed the time for the game, and if we are going to make it for the kickoff, we have to get on the road pretty soon,” I said.

“How many times have you driven a deuce and a half, Larsen?” the motor pool sergeant asked.

“Never,” I said. “But I had a commercial driver’s license before entering the Army. I have driven trucks on the farm since about the age of ten.”

“Will, the roads in Korea are a long way from the farm,” the sergeant said. “Where are you going at such an hour?”

“The 508th ASA Group is playing in the semifinals for the football league,” I said. “One of the guys from our shop is on the team. We are going up for the game.”

“You are going to be dodging ox carts and foot traffic all the way to Seoul,” the sergeant said. “And the traffic in the middle of Seoul will be like you have never seen before. You just have to lean on your horn at every intersection. Otherwise, nobody will pay any attention to you. This truck has these yellow rebar posts welded onto the front bumper’s edge; you will find them invaluable to knowing where you are on the road. If the rebar clears the papa-san, you are fine.”

“You make it sound like we are going to be dodging people the entire way,” I said.

“Like I said, Larsen, we are a long way from the farm,” the sergeant said.

Following the basic instructions, we were good to go and pulled over in front of the mess hall to load the crew up. It was before shift change for the operations building, but we had twisted the mess hall for an early breakfast.

“Okay, guys,” I said as I picked up a couple of bananas from the fruit stand in the mess hall. “We need to load up and get on the road.”

“I’m not in the shop, but I was wondering if I could ride along,” Bob asked.

“What do you mean you’re not in the shop?” I asked. “You’re in supply. Get your butt in the truck.”

Everyone was loading into the truck in front of the mess hall. Truman was waiting to secure the tailgate.

“Lauser, why don’t you ride up front with Truman and me?” I asked. “The seats are a little softer, and there is plenty of room.”

With everyone loaded up, we drove the half mile to the main gate and turned the truck down the main street of Anjeung-ri. The street was teeming with people. There was hardly enough room for the truck in the middle of the road.

“Hit the horn, Larsen,” Truman said. “Let’s see if they jump.”

I gave a short blast on the horn, and the road cleared as if by magic. That was our first lesson in driving the roads of Korea.

“We have fifty miles of this. I hope the horn holds up,” I said as we drove into the countryside of South Korea.

The people thinned out, but the ox carts seemed to be everywhere. In early October, we were in the middle of the rice harvest. There were several times when people would seem to appear out of nowhere. One old man stepped out onto the road, and the yellow rebar on the front bumper couldn’t have missed his elbow by more than an inch.

“That was close,” Truman said. “Where the hell did he come from?”

When we got close to Seoul, the ox carts thinned, and the people increased in numbers. I laid on the horn at every intersection. People and vehicles seemed to part in front of the truck and collapse behind it. Sort of like driving through a flock of sheep on an Idaho highway.

We arrived at the football field with plenty of time before the kickoff. The game was not much to watch, but everyone enjoyed the break away from the company.

“Watching these guys, I should have tried out for the team,” I said.

“I think Mr. Neal was happy to get Ed out of the shop for a couple of months,” Lauser said. “I don’t think he would have let you go.”

It started raining before the game ended, and many of our group spent the last couple of minutes back in the truck. The 508th lost by a couple of touchdowns.

I checked with Ed after the game to make sure he wasn’t planning to return with us.

“The coach is going to take me back tomorrow in a jeep,” Ed said. “That will be more comfortable than riding in the back of a truck.”

We loaded up and headed back to Camp Humphreys. Thinking we had the system for driving in Seoul down pat, we sailed through the first few intersections with the horn blaring.

Then the horn went dead. We could hardly move and ended up stuck in the middle of a large intersection. Six streets came together in a giant maze, and people swarmed from everywhere.

“What the hell are we going to do now?” I asked.

“I’ll show you,” Truman said. “You get ready to move this thing.”

Truman rolled down his window, crawled halfway out, pounded on the truck’s hood, and shouted at the top of his lungs. The way forward cleared almost as magically as if we had a horn.

With increasing rain, Truman was getting soaked, but he didn’t complain, and before we knew it, we were back in the countryside. The traffic was heavier than our trip up to Seoul in the morning hours. There were fewer ox carts and more people, but they were confining themselves to the edge of the road better because of the traffic.

As we drove south out of Suwon, we were in a line of trucks. Most of the trucks were loaded with large sacks of rice. The rain was heavy now. The highway was elevated on a dike passing through a long stretch of rice paddies.

Suddenly, the truck in front of us started braking, and he twisted this way and that way.

“What the heck is wrong with him?” Lauser said.

About then, we could see this guy rolling down the highway ahead of the truck. He had just been struck by the truck. The truck continued to fight for control and finally headed off the road and into the rice paddies some fifteen feet below.

As the truck went over the edge of the dike, his rear wheels rose high in the air. When the wheels came down, they struck the man, stretched out on the highway, squarely in his midsection. Splat!

“Oh my God!” Truman said. “Did you see that?”

In Korea, whenever there was a traumatic event, a crowd of people would appear, seemingly from out of the mist.

A hundred people surrounded us almost instantly. We were all out of the truck but couldn’t move through the crowd. I got back in the truck to watch as things unfolded before us.

Several Koreans stopped the first truck in the northbound lane. They folded the dead guy up, picked him up, and stuck him in on the floor of the passenger side of the rice truck they had stopped. And off the truck went, heading to Suwon with his dead passenger.

The crowd dissipated as rapidly as it had formed. Everything was back to the way it had been moments before the accident as if nothing had happened.

We looked at each other and shook our heads. Truman laughed.

“Check the back, and make sure we have everybody and the tail gate is secure,” I said. “We need to get home and unwind now.”

“Yeah, tonight might be a good night to have a purple Jesus party,” Lauser said.

“I don’t know. I think I will stop by Bob’s hooch and play with his new puppy,” I said.

“What’s up that?” Truman said. “The Koreans don’t have pets. Where did he come up with a puppy like that?”

“I don’t know, but it is sort of a touch of home,” I said.

The rest of the drive was uneventful. All the guys were happy when I dropped them off at the mess hall, just in time for dinner.”

“How did the trip go?” the motor pool sergeant asked.

“It went well until the horn stopped working,” I said. “And then when the truck squished a guy on the highway, the fun was sort of over.”

“Did you hit someone?” the sergeant asked.

“No, it was a rice truck ahead of us,” I said. “We just had a front-row view of the event.”

“You had me worried for a minute,” the sergeant said. “We would be buried in paperwork if you had hit someone.”

After finishing up at the motor pool, I went to the mess hall for dinner and then changed clothes and went to the village. I stopped at Bob’s hooch and played with his puppy for a bit before going to Duffy’s Tavern to drown out the day’s events.

The Salamander’s Tale, From the Archives

D. E. Larsen, DVM

Jake lifted his young son out of the pickup and handed him off to Sue as he opened the tailgate and let Bruiser jump out of the pickup bed.

They could already feel the cooling breeze coming from the river and providing some welcome relief from the Mid Willamette Valley’s August heat. 

Bruiser was excited, he had been here before, and he strained against Jake’s hold on his collar while Jake struggled to attach a leash.

Sue was double-checking everything in her bag. She didn’t want to make a trip up the bank to the pickup for some forgotten item. Finally, she was ready.

“Ok, let’s get to the water,” Sue said as she jostled Benny on her hip.

Bruiser strained at the end of the leash, trying to reach the trail leading down to the river. Jake had to lean back against the pull to keep from being pulled off his feet.

“Why don’t you just let him go?” Sue asked.

“We don’t know who is down there. I don’t want to end the day with a dog fight.”

They threaded their way down the trail to the river from the highway. The far shoreline was filled with people, kids, and dogs. This side was a little more challenging to get up and down from the road, but it was much less crowded for that very reason.

“I wish that the Cascadia State Park side was not so crowded,” Sue said. “It is so much easier to get down to the river.”

“We will enjoy the day so much more on this side,” Jake said. “Bruiser can run off-leash, and we won’t have to worry about all the dogs on the far bank.”

There was a small beach with soft, warm sand on this side of the river. Everywhere else was just smooth bedrock that the river flowed over. Several large holes of deepwater offered prime swimming areas. They were connected with short rapids as the water cascaded over the shale.

The breeze coming up the river was most refreshing, and Sue spread the large beach towel out on the soft sand and sat down with Benny. The little beach was shaded by the large maple trees the lined the river, so she didn’t have to worry about smearing sunblock on Benny.

“This feels so nice here. I wished we lived closer, so it wasn’t such a chore to get here,” Sue said.

“It would be nice,” Jake said as he released Bruiser from the leash and started to wade into the water. “When I was young, and we lived Sweet Home, it was an easy trip. But from Albany, it just seems like it takes forever.”

Jake dove into the deep pool. He popped up and looked back at Sue and Benny on the little beach. The cold water was a refreshing contrast to the valley heat.

Sue tried to get Benny to look at his father, and Bruiser was standing in the river with the water touching his chest. Being a Pit Bull, he was not a good swimmer and did not like the deep water. 

Jake thought he would do a deep dive and then take Bruiser up the shallow water in the rapids above this hole. Jake dove to the bottom of the hole.

This was a hole carved into the smooth bedrock of the river. The hole’s bottom was littered with large river gravel—rocks worn smooth from being tumbled down the river during the rainy season. As Jake turned to head for the surface, he noticed several trout feeding in the area where the water spilled into the deep hole. They seemed oblivious to his presence.

Jake returned to the bleach and grabbed Benny from his toys on the beach towel. He tossed him a few inches in the air. Jake would have thrown him high, but Sue would not allow that. Then he took Benny to the water’s edge, put his feet in the water, and splashed some water on his bare belly. 

“Would you play with Benny in the water while I take Bruiser up to the shallow water?” Jake asked Sue.

Sue set her book down and jumped up to take Benny. Jake motioned to Bruiser and headed up the stream toward the shallow water.

Bruiser plowed into the shallow water above the rapids. He splashed and ran, piling up a wake in front of his broad chest. Jake watched him and smiled. He liked this place so much as it reminded him of his days as a child. Few people knew of the little sandy beach. It was always like their little private spot.

Jake stood and surveyed the scene in front of him. The cool breeze coming up the river was in his face. Sue and Benny were playing in the water at the beach and the mass of people frolicking on the rocks at the deep holes down the river by the park. It was just about a perfect day, an ideal place.

Jake turned around and looked at Bruiser. Bruiser was standing in a shallow pool and had a yellow-bellied newt hanging from his mouth by its tail.

“Put that thing down!” Jake yelled at Bruiser.

Bruiser looked at him, then slurped the salamander into his mouth, chomped a time or two, and swallowed it.

“I hope that tasted good, you dumb dog,” Jake said. “Come on, let’s go back to the beach.”

Jake turned and started back down the stream to where Sue had just started drying Benny off with a large beach towel.

He looked to make sure Bruiser was following. Bruiser was foaming at the mouth a little and shaking his head, scattering foam into the water on both sides of him.

“I told you to put that thing down, now look at you. Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Bruiser started to follow Jake down the stream, staggering a bit as he ran across the rocks.

“What in the world happened to Bruiser?” Sue asked as they approached the beach.

“He ate one of those salamanders that are all over here this time of the year. I think they call them newts.”

“I seem to think that they might be poisonous. Just look at Bruiser now. He can hardly walk.”

Jake turned to look at Bruiser. He was stumbling and staggering to keep up with him. His chest was covered with the thick white foam that he continued to shake out of his mouth.

“I will wash out his mouth. That should make it a little better.”

“I don’t think so. I think this is serious,” Sue said. “I think we should take him to the vet. There is probably one in Sweet Home.”

“Maybe you are right. Let’s load up and run down there and have him checked.”

Sue hastily packed her things into her bag and grabbed Benny, and started up the trail. Jake put the leash on Bruiser and gave it a tug. Bruiser did not respond.

Jake looked closely at Bruiser. Bruiser’s eyes seemed to not focus on anything. He pulled on the leash again. Bruiser tried to take a step but fell face-first into the sand. Jake was anxious now. 

He gathered Bruiser up in his arms and clambered up the trail to the pickup.

“He is getting worse by the minute,” Jake said to Sue as he lowered the tailgate and slid Bruiser into the bed of the pickup. Bruiser looked up but did not try to stand. The pupils of his eyes were widely dilated, and he seemed to look without focus.

“Let’s hurry. We can stop at the store and get directions and have them call for us,” Sue said.

They loaded everything into the cab and sped off down the road to the store.

Sue ran into the little store. Joyce was behind the counter.

“Our dog swallowed a salamander, and he was foaming at the mouth and staggering by the time he got out of the water. I don’t think he can stand now. Can you call the vet for us in Sweet Home and let them know that we are on our way.”

Joyce gave Sue directions to the clinic and said she would call. 

“You guys drive safe going down that road out there. The traffic is pretty heavy today.”

Sue looked at Bruiser as she walked around the pickup to get in on the passenger side.

“He looks worse by the minute,” Sue said. “She is going to call, so they will be waiting for us.”

Jake pulled out onto the highway and turned on his emergency flashers. Then he pushed the gas pedal to the floor. It was going to be a challenging 13 miles.

Sandy took the call from Joyce. 

“It must be bad,” Joyce said. “She was really frantic. They should be there shortly if they don’t crash on the way.”

Sandy relayed the information to Terri and me. 

“What do you for that?” Terri asked.

“Those newts are highly toxic. This is probably going to be a dead dog. There is nothing to be done. A young guy in Coos County swallowed one on a dare when they were partying on the river bank a few years ago. He died.”

“So, these folks are going expect us to do something.”

“Let’s set up the endoscope. Maybe we can retrieve the thing from his stomach and reduce the dose. It will look like we are trying, but it is going to end with a dead dog. 

When I was in school at Oregon State studying under Dr. Storm in the Zoology Department, he talked about one of his graduate students’ studies on these newts in Western Oregon. They are called the Rough-Skinned Newt. They are very toxic around here, less so in some areas. I didn’t know at the time, but the student was from Myrtle Point. Older than me by a few years, but he was in high school with my brother. We called him Butch. He is pretty much the expert on the newt.”

We were all set up for Jake and Sue’s arrival with Bruiser. They came through the door in a rush. Bruiser was limp in Jake’s arms, Sue was carrying Benny on her hip. We guided them to the treatment table, where Jake laid him out on the table.

“I think he is dead,” Jake said.

I checked, he was dead.

“We should have been faster,” Jake said.

“I am sorry, Jake. This is a hard way to lose a friend, but being faster would have made no difference. Bruiser signed his death certificate when he ate the salamander. There is nothing to be done to treat this toxicity.”

“Do we owe you anything?” Sue asked.

“No, not at this point. Do you want us to take care of him for you?” I asked.

Jake gathered Bruiser up in his arms, “No, we will take him home. We have a place to bury him.”

With that, they were gone, almost as fast as they came.

“That was sad,” Terri said.

“So many people have no idea those little things are so deadly. As a kid, we played with them all the time. I never heard of a problem with them until I was in school at Oregon State.”

Photo by Dyann McCollum

Information Link: 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rough-skinned_newt?fbclid=IwAR0czquFGih0kn0vgTXLlog0mplGLaeReWU7Dh8Lsfnw5GiIUkV88NJDHhU

Halloween, October 1973

D. E. Larsen, DVM

The girls were excited about trick-or-treating. The only problem, it was cold in Colorado in late October. Brenda, a second grader, was well-versed in what was going on. Amy, at just short of 2 years old, had no idea what was happening, but she was excited anyway.

The chore was on my shoulders this year. Sandy was stuck in the house with Dee, who wasn’t three months.

“You make sure those girls are bundled up well,” Sandy said. “It is cold out there tonight.”

So the costumes were covered with heavy coats, and we made one last check before heading out the door.

We moved out of Aggie Village at the end of the summer this year. Last year, Brenda could just go down the row of apartments in the married student housing project and make out like a bandit in just a short time. We were in an apartment on Emigh Street, and the houses were spread out more.

“Let’s start by visiting Ester’s,” I said as I ushered the girls out the door.

Ester was a young college student who lived in an apartment across the street. Brenda, at least, knew Ester.

“She will like seeing our costumes,” Brenda said.

We carefully crossed the street and started up the steps to Ester’s door. Ester had decorated well. There were glowing pumpkins on each step, and cobweb stuff was strung everywhere.

Amy was done walking and stretched out her arms to be picked up. She didn’t really like ducking through the cobwebs. Brenda sort of had a nervous laugh.

The music started as soon as we approached the door. Haunted house, spooky music. Amy’s grip around my neck tightened. Brenda pressed against my leg, holding tight to my free hand.

The door swung open, and a large puff of smoke bellowed out of the open doorway. 

Then through a maze of cobwebs, with giant black plastic spiders hanging everywhere, Ester emerged. 

Ester was made up as a pretty authentic witch. She wore a tall, pointed black hat and black robe. Her fake nose was long and sharp and had a large wart on one side. She carried her candy in a plastic bucket shaped like a skull.

Brenda was a little shaken and moved slightly behind me. She knew the tales of witches and had most likely read or listened to the story of Hansel and Gretel, and this was just a little too authentic for her liking.

Amy, on the other hand, I am sure, had no previous exposure to witches and goblins unless it occurred during Sesame Street. She probably didn’t know what a witch was, but she was sure she was done with this trick-or-treat business and wanted out of this place.

Amy clung to my neck with both arms, buried her face in my neck, and kicked her feet. She sobbed. 

I held the bucket out for Ester, and she placed a large handful of goodies in the bucket.

“This is a good job,” I said. “But I think it is too real for this crew.”

“I’m sorry,” Ester said. “Your girls are so sweet. I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“They’ll be fine,” I said as we turned and started down the stairs.

I could feel Amy shudder as we made our way through the cobwebs. When we reached the sidewalk, Amy pointed to our apartment.

“Mama,” Amy said between sobs.

I guess fathers are not empathic enough, so we went home.

“That was a quick trip,” Sandy said.

Amy almost jumped out of my arms to Sandy’s. 

“Ester’s place was a little overdone,” I said. “She has a real haunted house over there.”

“There were cobwebs all over the place,” Brenda said. “And smoke and a witch. Amy was really scared.”

“Yes, Amy decided she was done with stuff,” I said. “We can warm up a bit, and then I will take Brenda down this side of the street.”

When Brenda and I headed out again, a wind had developed, adding to the discomfort of a chilly night. We visited a few houses, and Brenda decided she had enough candy.

“Maybe it will be better next year,” I said.

Photo by JJ Jordan on Pexels.