The Salt Line: A Thanksgiving story

Asian workers unloading a ship by hand.

Note: At Thanksgiving, that time when we count our blessings with gratitude and memories, I have chosen to reflect on a couple of events in my life that occurred about this time of year. The first was the fire in our home, which happened six years ago. The second happened more than 60 years ago---in Korea. (From the Gazette archives.)

In 2008, my wife, Jean and I went through the ordeal of a rather serious house fire. We were fortunate in that no one was injured and, thanks to very speedy response by our efficient and brave firemen, our house could be rebuilt, but it took most of a year before the house was ready to move back in. A misfortune such as this is a real shock to the system. Still, the outpouring of support from friends, businesses, and even total strangers was a humbling, yet an uplifting experience. We are grateful that we have been privileged to live in such a caring community.

The week following the fire the Youth Group from the McCook Christian Church gave up a beautiful Sunday afternoon to help with the clean-up from the fire. The Christian Church Youth Group often goes on Christian mission trips to help on Indian Reservations, rural areas of Mexico, and other places where help is needed. To fund these trips they have year-long money raising projects. With the encouragement of one of their youth leaders, they voted, as one of their fund raising projects, to help us with the moving of household items from the house to the warehouse for ozone treatment

I believe that Jean was initially a bit apprehensive to think that an active group of teenagers would be moving in and out of the house, carrying salvageable furniture and boxes of keepsakes that we had managed to save from the fire. (It's amazing just how much "stuff" a family can accumulate in 50 years). Her fears were unfounded, and though, like all American teenagers, they joked and laughed as they worked, and made the project something of a game, the fact remained that for three hours those young men and women moved in and out of our house, in an almost continuous line, loading one trailer, then another with the skill and care of professional movers. It reminded me of another occasion -- a very long time ago.

In 1952 I was serving with a Bakery Company in Korea, during the War. Although our bakery was at Yong Dung Po, across the Han River from Seoul, the Capital of Korea, we regularly traveled to Inchon, on the coast, some 30 miles away, for provisions. Inchon was, and still is, one of the major sea ports of the Orient. It was here that General McArthur made his daring invasion of the Korean Peninsula, dramatically changing the course of the War (in a positive manner), after the Chinese and North Koreans had almost driven the Americans and South Koreans off the Korean Peninsula and into the sea, at Pusan.

One of the fellows in our outfit was a truck driver, named Napoleon, a Nebraskan, from Omaha. On my days off I often accompanied him on trips to Seoul, or Inchon, for supplies. One day we made a trip to Inchon for a load of flour and sugar for the bakery. While the truck was being loaded I wandered down to the docks for a look around. For a Nebraska boy, the sea and the activity around the docks always held a special fascination. That day was no exception.

One of the ships being unloaded that day was a "salt ship" -- not as large a ship as some of the freighters, but still a good sized ship. What made it interesting was the way that the ship was being unloaded. There was a line of perhaps 50 men, coolies, each with a crude basket pack on his back. In an endless circle these men trudged up the gang plank at one end of the ship, crossed the deck, half way, where two men scooped 150#-200# salt into their baskets, then trudged to the other end of the ship and down a gang plank to a station on shore, where two more men emptied the baskets into oxen drawn carts. The drivers drove their oxen carts to "who knows where". It was probably the same process that had been used for thousands of years.

That salt line never really stopped. The men just kept plodding, not fast, certainly, but at a good steady walk. Though the day was cool the men were sweating profusely. There was no talk between the men. There was really no expression on their faces. They never looked up as they went by. It was as if they were merely cogs in a machine, each doing his job, for that day, and the next, and the next, till "who knows when?"

It was a bit of a shock when one of the fellows in the salt line passed me. He was on his way for yet another basket of salt when he looked up and we made eye contact. He didn't speak. I'm sure he did not speak English and I did not speak Korean, but he gave a little shrug of his shoulders and rolled his eyes a bit. I didn't need a translator. I knew exactly what he was saying to me, "What's to do? This is my lot in life. It's a job and I've got to work to feed my family. So I do it". His look and the gesture spoke a universal language, the meaning of which I could not fail to grasp. There wasn't much I could do. He seemed indifferent to the couple of dollars that I handed him. He plodded on, never looking back, for still another basket of salt. That's all there was to our brief encounter. But after all these years I still remember the look that that fellow gave me on the docks that day. Of course I never saw him again. I hope that he was one who profited in the technical revolution has consumed South Korea in the last 60 years, but I'll never know.

So this Thanksgiving I'm giving thanks that Jean and I were able to survive our house fire. I'm thankful for the brave and efficient McCook firemen and the many good people of our area who came forth with help and good wishes. I'm thankful for the workmen who have gone out of their way to get us back into our home, and way of life, back into some semblance of order as quickly as was possible. And I'm thankful that I live in the United States of America, where the Youth of the McCook Christian Church and all our other young people can get an education and can seize the opportunity to do something meaningful with their lives -- and not spend their years on an endless "salt line."