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Korea — 1951
My Best Friend in Korea was Willie Canada When I was in Korea, my best friend was Willie Canada. 
Willie was a 200-pound 6-footer who was as strong as an ox and funnier than a court jester. He had this rare ability to be funny without even trying. He would say something in all seriousness and have me rolling on the floor — well, on the dirt floor of the pup tent we shared. We came to be tent-mates after our 155-Howitzer artillery battalion was suddenly ordered to move from one location near Pork Chop Hill to another. Upon arriving at the new bivouac area the enlisted men were told find a buddy and pitch a two-person pup tent together. Willie had become my best friend shortly after I arrived in Korea a couple of months earlier. We had a natural rapport and found each other to be good company during the long hours between fire missions that had tapered off slightly during the "peace talks" taking place in Panmunjom. Willie and I worked well together, but beyond that Willie hated all traditional forms of work. He once told me, "When I get out of this army I ain't never gonna work again!" "How will you manage that?" I asked. "We'll all have to work at some kind of a job when we get out." "Not me," he said. "No, sir! No Way! When I get out I'm gonna relax and take life easy." "So how will you get money to live on?" I persevered. "Oh, I got that all figured out," he said with a broad smile. "Y'see, while I'm in the army I'm gonna save all my money. And when I get out I'm gonna use that money to buy a truck. Then I'm gonna rent that truck to my brother. Now he likes to work." Then there was the time I ran across Willie digging a hole not far from our tent. He did not look happy.  "What are you doing?" I asked. "Diggin' a sump hole," he said with a thoroughly disgusted look on his face. "So how did you happen to get picked for this job?" I asked, truly puzzled, because Willie had a real talent for avoiding work details of any kind. "Well," he said, "I was just standin' here talkin' to Sergeant Cook and Corporal Adams. We weren't doin' nothin' special — you know — just shootin' the breeze. Well, all of a sudden this lieutenant walks up with a shovel in his hand and says, "Sergeant — we need a sump hole dug right here, right now. Take care of it!" "Yes, sir!" Sergeant Cook says, and turns around and looks at Corporal Adams. "Corporal," he says, "we need a sump hole dug right here, right now. Take care of it!" "Aye, aye," the corporal says, as he turns around and looks at me. "Private Canada, we need a sump hole dug right here, right now. Take care of it!" "Me? I turn around and look at the shovel — and start diggin'." "Then there was the time Willie came bounding into our tent, all out of breath and bubbling over with enthusiasm. "I got it!" he said. "I know what I'm gonna do when I get out of the army!" "I know," I replied. "You told me about the truck and your brother." "No, no," he said, "this is better — way better! I'm gonna start a church!" "Excuse me?" I said. "Yeah — really! I was just talkin' with some guys who said that back home they give ten percent of their wages to their church. It's somethin' called a tithe. Can you imagine? Ten percent!" "Think about it! If I had a church that only ten people came to, I'd be making as much as they did! And, shucks, I wouldn't charge no ten percent! I could get by on, say, seven, easy. And if I had enough people comin' I could even drop it to five percent! Man! I can't wait to get started!" And Willie was totally serious. In fact, I've often wondered how things are going at his church. Click for a story about time spent with another black partner. The Day I Accidentally Turned a POW Loose Unknown Lieutenant Saved My Life |
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