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Farewell Peter Bartholomew, defender of Korea's heritage

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Peter Bartholomew sits in the courtyard of his hanok home in northeastern Seoul, Sept. 15, 2016.  Courtesy of Jon Dunbar
Peter Bartholomew sits in the courtyard of his hanok home in northeastern Seoul, Sept. 15, 2016. Courtesy of Jon Dunbar

By Robert Neff

Sometime in the middle of the night of May 11 or 12, Peter Bartholomew's 53-year-long sojourn in Korea ended with his sudden, unexpected death. Known for his passionate defense of traditional Korean houses, or hanok, his deep appreciation for Korean history and culture, his relationship with Korea's royal family and his business success, he often appeared on television, in newspapers, magazines and online articles, and guided friends, colleagues and peers to the hidden and vanishing treasures of Korea's past. He was often long-winded but surprisingly we know little about him.

Peter Bartholomew was born in New York in 1945 and received a BA in French Literature at Hamilton College. He later admitted to Tom Coyner ― a long-time friend and fellow Peace Corps volunteer ― that he had chosen French literature because he saw it as an easy degree; he already spoke French having spent some of his childhood living in Quebec.

In late 1967, he joined the Peace Corps and arrived in Seoul in January 1968. It is unclear if he volunteered for Korea or was sent here by the luck of the draw but he was assigned to a teaching position in Gangwon Province ― a mountainous region that is extremely cold in the winter and miserably hot in the summer.

Bartholomew "used to love recounting his brief 'military' experience on the East Coast … when the North Korean guerillas came ashore in 1968," said Ken Kaliher. Apparently it was a student from his school who alerted the police to the presence of the North Koreans. Hank Morris ― Bartholomew's friend of 49 years ― added that the student became somewhat of a local hero and equally insufferable. Bartholomew was, according to Kaliher, "issued a rifle and ammunition in case the invaders should appear in his area." Fortunately, they didn't.

He spent five years with Peace Corps Korea ― a rather long period considering the usual tour of duty was only two years but could be extended for another year. Several years ago, when asked why he stayed so long, he evaded the question, but some of his peers and friends have speculated that he stayed where "it was safe" because his draft number was very low and his chances of being sent to Vietnam were very high. The U.S. economy probably had some influence on his decision to remain as there were no jobs back home. Whether he was here by default or choice is unclear but whatever it was, he truly did come to appreciate his host country.

In 1973, Bartholomew moved to Seoul where, for the most part, he remained until his death, a quiet witness to the political turmoil of the peninsula. He seemingly knew everyone but was careful to never become the nail sticking up so as not to be hammered down by those in power.

There was, however, one exception. A lobbying scandal in the United States in 1976/77, known as Koreagate, resulted in him being, as he later described it, anywhere but in the United States or Korea while it was being investigated. His role ― if any ― was apparently insignificant and through his mother's political savviness he was able to weather the political storm relatively unscathed and return to Korea.

Soon, he and some partners formed their own successful company involved in consulting and shipbuilding. Business was, of course, an important part of his life but it paled in comparison to his passion for Korean history ― particularly that of the late 19th century, the royal family and old buildings. "Joseon was his great love," declared Brother Anthony, friend and former president of Royal Asiatic Society (RAS) Korea.

Living in the past

Much of Bartholomew's knowledge of the Korean language, heritage and architecture can be possibly traced back to one serendipitous encounter. While teaching in Gangwon, he liked to explore the surrounding countryside on his old bike. One day he noticed a large compound of traditional buildings that was much different from his own baser accommodations. Curious, he walked in and within a short period of time his charm and personality won over the owner of the residence ― an elderly woman who was a member of the old dynasty. He was eventually allowed to live in the compound ― and, judging from how much he talked about his time there, it became one of the defining points of his life in Korea.

Much of his present fame is due to his stubborn determination to protect traditional architecture. Lately he has been christened "Guardian of the Hanok," and he was sought out for his knowledge on maintaining the houses. He even helped Michael Spavor, the famous North Korea engager now imprisoned in China, to fix up the oldest hanok in Bukahyeon-dong where Spavor lived before moving away. But Bartholomew was not the only "guardian." Robert Fouser, Philippe Tirault and David Kilburn (who passed in 2019) also fiercely battled ― sometimes physically ― to defend the hanok in their neighborhoods from progress and modernization. To some people, they are seen as heroes while others see them as meddling foreigners trying to save things that should be allowed to disappear.

Peter Bartholomew's hanok home in northeastern Seoul / Courtesy of Tom Coyner
Peter Bartholomew's hanok home in northeastern Seoul / Courtesy of Tom Coyner

Some hanok had a past that many might want to forget. In the early 1970s, Peace Corps volunteers Gary Mintier and his wife Mary Ann lived in Seoul in a small building on a large compound. Bartholomew visited frequently and told them that the main building "was a hanok in style but had been built by the Japanese for one of the Koreans who had betrayed Korea to the Japanese."

Bartholomew's residence is a juxtaposition of the past and present. In 1974, he acquired his hanok ― said to have been built in the early 1920s ― and faithfully restored it, at great cost, using traditional methods and materials, but he also modernized part of it for his own comfort. Hanok are often perceived as being uncomfortable, high-maintenance and difficult to protect from natural and criminal elements. In a 2011 interview, Bartholomew explained: "Once you modernize the heating, bathroom, kitchen, and laundry facilities there is no real discomfort. It is a different style of living from a concrete apartment, but not necessarily less comfortable. A lot of the so-called inconveniences are exactly the same for any single-family residence, be it hanok, brick, concrete or wooden Western-style."

The interior of Peter Bartholomew's hanok home in northeastern Seoul / Courtesy of Tom Coyner
The interior of Peter Bartholomew's hanok home in northeastern Seoul / Courtesy of Tom Coyner

Due to his business and personal interests, he was away from home frequently for long stretches of time and so he allowed several young men, who had completed their service with the Korean Navy, to live in his residence ― free of charge ― while they attended school in Seoul. In exchange, they did odd jobs around the house and helped protect the property. According to RAS Korea President Steve Shields, over 100 of them stayed at Peter's hanok over 30 years.

Bartholomew's house breathed history. Scattered here and there were remnants of the past; items that at the time he acquired them were not really valued by anyone except him. The tales they might have told are now forgotten, but would undoubtedly be welcomed additions to any museum.

Peter Bartholomew hosts visitors at his hanok home in northeastern Seoul, Sept. 15, 2016. Courtesy of Jon Dunbar
Peter Bartholomew hosts visitors at his hanok home in northeastern Seoul, Sept. 15, 2016. Courtesy of Jon Dunbar

However, one item can still tell its tale. According to Bartholomew, he rescued a diary of a young Korean prince from the late 1970s or early 1980s that had been left behind as trash. Apparently it contained the type of entries that one would expect from a typical lonely teenage boy ― except they were, perhaps, written in a more elegant prose.

Interestingly, a number of years ago, Bartholomew attached a wooden fertility symbol to the ceiling of his living room. The phallic-shaped symbol became a conversation piece for his and his young naval housemates' guests but it may have served another purpose.

According to legend, in the late 1920s a Korean maiden hanged herself from one of the ceiling beams. Bartholomew claimed that up until the late 1990s, the maiden's ghost made itself known by stomping around the house, flinging papers about and generally frightening his guests. The presence of the virile young men may have aggravated the situation. When asked about it in 2005, Bartholomew only shook his head and implied the spirit had been appeased.

A window of Peter Bartholomew's hanok home in northeastern Seoul / Courtesy of Tom Coyner
A window of Peter Bartholomew's hanok home in northeastern Seoul / Courtesy of Tom Coyner

Palaces

Her spirit may have been appeased but his wasn't. He was active in RAS Korea, serving on the council for decades and as president from 2008 to 2010, and frequently led tours through the palaces and historical sites of Seoul, as well as other cities, regaling his audience with amusing (and, at times, overly long) tales of the past. It was his story-telling manner and the amount of information he conveyed that endeared him to his listeners. His Joseon Seoul tour took a full day, starting at 9 a.m. and visiting four palaces, ending around 6 p.m. Each year he did the tour, he would revisit sites only to find them destroyed or renovated beyond recognition, and he exasperatedly pointed out errors and inconsistencies in reconstruction of palace buildings and some of their features.

Peter Bartholomew leads a tour of Deoksu Palace, Oct. 25, 2015. Courtesy of Jon Dunbar
Peter Bartholomew leads a tour of Deoksu Palace, Oct. 25, 2015. Courtesy of Jon Dunbar

Bartholomew was not a patient or understanding man when it came to restoration. In his eyes, the destruction of the palace buildings ― as well as many other historical sites ― was due to the Japanese occupation, and the errors in reconstruction and repair to the corruption and indifference by Korea's modern society.

Bartholomew's interest in palaces isn't that surprising. He knew some of the Korean royal family and visited them while they lived at Changdeok Palace. His first home in Seoul had been in Unhyeon Palace, but he moved out very soon, finding it difficult to live with the elderly female courtiers. In the mid-1980s, he helped "rediscover" the palace at Suwon which subsequently resulted in its conservation and repair. Dr. Tony Michell, a friend of nearly four decades, recalled Bartholomew's great excitement as he explained how he came to discover the lost palace by using an old photograph. Photographs remained one of his favorite tools of research. Shields said Bartholomew "was ever surfing the internet for old photos dealing with Changdeok Palace and the royal family."

Peter Bartholomew sits at Unhyeon Palace, Oct. 25, 2015, where he claimed he lived briefly in the early 1970s. Courtesy of Jon Dunbar
Peter Bartholomew sits at Unhyeon Palace, Oct. 25, 2015, where he claimed he lived briefly in the early 1970s. Courtesy of Jon Dunbar

Who was Bartholomew?

Many of Bartholomew's friends and peers have provided anecdotes through social media, email and in face-to-face interviews in which the common themes were his "short" phone calls often lasted more than an hour, his love of old buildings and his unique character.

He was extremely intelligent. In 2011, he appeared on the Korean quiz show "100 to 1" in which 100 contestants were asked questions on a wide range of topics by a panel of Korean experts. Those who failed to answer correctly were eliminated. Bartholomew was the only foreign contestant and he won.

He was very suave and could charm his way into historical sites ― even privately owned buildings ― with his Korean fluency and knowledge of Korean culture. Around 2014, when police accosted him visiting an abandoned hanok village in Gyonam-dong, he used the opportunity to lecture them on the value of preserving architectural heritage rather than trying to talk his way out of possible trouble; they let him keep looking around.

Yet, despite his penchant for long-winded conversations, he actually spoke very little about himself.

The people who have known him for 20 or 30 or 40 years or more have surprisingly very little knowledge of him. Mintier remembered him as being aloof at times but other times very focused on those around him. He was engaging and more than eager to share benign anecdotes (with a smidge of exaggeration) but never really bared his true emotions, aspirations or fears. "He had a lot of acquaintances," Coyner somewhat sadly mused, "but very few ― if any ― deep and close relationships."

When Brother Anthony announced Bartholomew's death to a Korean studies group he wrote: "We are appalled to have lost him at such a young age, when he still had so much writing to do, to share his immense knowledge."

It is bitterly ironic. About a week ago, in my last phone conversation with Bartholomew, I urged him to write his memoirs so that he could be remembered in the manner in which he wanted, otherwise I would end up writing about him. And here we are. Somehow it is easier to write about a stranger who died more than a century ago than to write about a friend who died just a few days ago.


May you rest in peace, Peter.




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