Surprisingly, many of our group voluntarily extended their tour in Korea for an additional year. The added time provided an excellent opportunity for promotion for career Marines, and many preferred this duty to the rigors of Marine Corp stateside duty.

We had lived in a survival situation so long that our language and attitude had to be drastically changed to meet the niceties of stateside standards. The differences between living in a civilian situation, or the spit-and-polish of Marine Corp stateside duty, as compared to our field situation were unbelievable.

As our rotation time neared, we joked about the simple things like dining from plates at a table instead of eating from a mess kit in the open while seated on the ground. Thoughts of sleeping in a bed made up with sheets were appealing. We joked about the niceties of using bathroom facilities in place of the ever present entrenching tool. It had been over a year since any of us had had the use of a comfortable bathtub, and the thoughts of soaking in a warm tub for hours appealed to everyone.

Rumors abounded as to possible departure dates, but there was little or no preparation to be made. Other than our toilet articles and a few personal items, we had nothing we wanted to carry with us. Everything we wanted, or needed, would be carried in our pockets.

Our replacements were capable leaders and had received sufficient on-the-job training to convince us that our units were being left in good hands. We recognized that within a few hours after our departure, we would hardly be missed.

Finally the day came, and we were unceremoniously loaded aboard trucks to be transported to a beach area near Inchon on the Korean west coast. The notice to load up was almost like a "non-event," but no one had to be told a second time.

Upon arrival at the beach, we learned that the tides were out and that we would have a four hour wait for sufficient water depths to float the landing craft scheduled to transport us to the troop ship. From where we waited we could see the troop ship, The William Wiegel, and the hospital ship, Hope, anchored in the harbor at some distance from each other. It was the practice of all vessels of mercy to avoid close contact with troop ships or other vessels of war that might be subject to attack.

In the late afternoon we could see our transportation nearing the beach, and we were quickly relieved of our weapons and ammunition. It was easy to see the respect that each Marine had for his rifle as he reluctantly surrendered it to a waiting armorer. This was the first time I had been unarmed since my arrival a year earlier, and for a very few moments I felt extremely uncomfortable about the situation.

Our transportation to the ship was an LCM operated by a "crusty" seaman from the Maritime Service who had a body odor about him, smelled of strong drink, spoke broken English and could curse for an hour without having to resort to using the same word twice. Despite the vile oratory as he gave instruction for loading, he could say nothing that would dampen our day. We were on our way home and, whether he liked it or not, he was now our captive and our ticket for the first step.

The LCM was equipped with a front-loading ramp operated by the seaman from the elevated control station on the stern of the craft. Not being satisfied with the compactness of his human cargo, the merchant seaman climbed down from his control position, went to the front and packed us aboard in standing positions to utilize all the available space. As he attempted to return to his station, the Marines in the front of the craft lifted him high in the air and we passed him over our heads until he was placed back in his control station. During his airborne travel he cursed, screamed, yelled and made strong statements about our ancestry that caused many of us to think that he did not appreciate the assistance.

As our craft backed away from the shore and headed toward the Wiegel, a loud impromptu cheer range out. The state of exhilaration manifested itself in one loud outburst that lasted several seconds. The duration of the ride lasted only a few minutes but the seaman made sure that it was one of the wildest rides we had ever encountered. The seaman continued to scream vulgarities at us and we, in turn, continued to taunt him.

Many of us tipped him as we left his craft to board the ship. During the unloading process we were receiving both his individual thanks for the tips along with his continued cursing of the situation and group in general.

As is standard in all combat zones, the ship’s engines were running when we boarded and within an hour we were underway. As I crawled into my bunk that night I remember hearing the purr of the ship’s engines and thinking that it was no longer necessary for me to sleep with one eye open. I can still recall my sound sleep that night.

On arrival in Kobe the following morning, we met many of the Marines we had served with prior to our arrival in Korea. We were quickly transported to the warehouse where we had stored our sea bags a year earlier.

We could not help but notice the bags of the members of our replacement draft that remained unclaimed as we retrieved our bags. The significance was obvious, and we all left the warehouse in a more sober and solemn state of mind than when we entered.

The troop accommodations aboard the Wiegel were more comfortable than those of the Minerva, and the ship was not only more stable, but was also several knots faster. It was a smooth sailing, and we felt as though we were going home in style.

During the second day out of Kobe we had a lifeboat drill and were ordered topside with our life jackets. While we were involved in the drill, our bunks were searched and we later had the opportunity to view the cache of firearms, ammunition, explosives and "souvenirs" found during the search. The items confiscated were promptly dumped over the side. Even though much of the stuff was considered contraband, the matter was overlooked and no one was punished.

Unlike the trip a year earlier, the seas were calm, the weather was clear, and several nights we had the opportunity to enjoy the open decks and witness the sites of Saint Elmo’s Fire in the wake of the waters along side the ship.

On the sixth day out of Kobe, we entered San Francisco Bay and got a fish’s eye view of the Golden Gate Bridge as we passed under it. We continued into the harbor, and as we passed near Alcatraz, we received a very loud and distinctive salute from all of the Island’s whistles and sirens. A huge band and a very large crowd was on hand to greet us at the dock as our ship pulled up to the pier at the Treasure Island Naval Base.

We disembarked and were transported by bus to the Marine Barracks. The bus ride felt strange because we had become accustomed to riding in the back of cargo trucks when we were fortunate enough to get a ride. We marveled at how smooth the roads and streets were after having become accustomed to the highways of Korea.

At the barracks we were told that the accommodations would be our home for four days while we received physical examinations and assignment orders for our next duty station. We were advised we would receive shore liberty that night and reminded that we would need a "Liberty Card" and an identification card to get off the base.

It was then I realized I had arrived back in the states two months before I was of legal age to enter any of the San Francisco bars. To solve the problem, I quickly joined the line of Marines who had lost their identification cards and falsified my date of birth on a temporary identification card.

On the second day I received my orders and found I had been assigned to the 2nd Marine Division based at Camp LeJeune, North Carolina. The days passed very quickly, and after checking both airline and train schedules I boarded a Pullman headed for Memphis and home.

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