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| A newspaper clipping of Lieutenant Richard F. Underwood, interpreter, during the Korean War. Courtesy of Richard Underwood, "What a fun LIFE!" |
By Robert Neff
I never met Richard Folsom Underwood in person, but I have corresponded with him on several occasions over the last six or seven years. He was always kind enough to answer my incessant questions about life in Korea prior to World War II and provided honest criticism of my writing ― pointing out my far-too-frequent errors. He also provided me with a copy of his autobiography, "What a Fun LIFE."
Born in Seoul on June 9, 1927, his arrival was not especially welcomed by his three older brothers who desired a sister and indignantly pointed out to their mother that "every respectable family has at least one girl!" She eventually placated them when she provided them with a kid sister some two years later.
His early years were filled with picnics, sailing on the Han River or along the coast, hunting in the mountains and life lessons taught with reasoning and an occasional spanking. There was also a degree of competitiveness enjoyed by the entire family ― especially when they played croquet.
Richard's father always insisted on using the green ball and took fiendish delight in hexing his children's balls while charming his own. When he knocked one of his young opponents' ball out of the field he felt compelled to quote Lord Byron ― "The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, his cohorts all gleaming purple and gold." If the children were playing well, he would taunt them by declaring, "The wicked flourish as the green bay tree," but if he was ahead "Virtue rises triumphant," rang from his lips.
Following the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, most Westerners were forced to leave Korea. When he was old enough, Underwood enlisted in the U.S. Army and was stationed in Korea following Japan's surrender ― other members of his family also returned to Seoul. Although liberated, the peninsula was divided by two ideologies and was a vortex of political uncertainty and lawlessness. He served for nearly two years in Korea before he was discharged and returned to the United States to attend school.
On March 17, 1949, his mother was murdered in her own home at Choson Christian College (now Yonsei University) during a tea party given in honor of Mo Yunsuk, a poet. Two members of the Democratic Patriotic Students League broke into the house intent on killing Mo and when Mrs. Underwood attempted to throw them out, she was mortally shot. Her last words were, "It is okay."
The Korean War began on June 25, 1950, and Underwood promptly reenlisted in the U.S. Army and was sent to Korea as a junior officer. His accounts of the war are haunting, especially the events surrounding Wonsan and the massacre of citizens by the North Korean forces. But, as he noted in his book, North Korean soldiers were not the only ones guilty of atrocities.
There were other losses. On Feb. 20, 1951, his father, who worked "for an unnamed U.S. agency" in Korea, died from a heart attack. It was a terrible blow but Underwood found solace with his work.
During one of the peace talks, he served as an interpreter. In his book, he admitted that he was less-than-pleased with his initial performance ― having "sweat blood, died of humiliation" and poorly interpreting the speeches given by the delegates ― but he quickly improved.
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| Richard Underwood, right, in 1953 / Korea Times Archive |
Not included in his autobiography is an anecdote he provided me a couple of months ago. He and his brother, Horace (who was also serving as an interpreter) learned the U.N. delegation was considering ceding the Baengnyeong Island group to North Korea.
This greatly alarmed the brothers who had often sailed to the islands prior to World War II and knew some of the residents. They were also aware that following liberation and the subsequent division of the peninsula, many refugees, mostly Christians, fled from the mainland to the islands because they were south of the 38th parallel and thus within South Korea. If the islands were ceded to North Korea, the refugees (and their friends) would all suffer.
The Underwoods quickly pointed out the strategic importance of the islands ― that they were ideal locations for radar stations to monitor China. The delegation agreed and declared that as the islands "had never been under the control of the North they must remain in the South."
In his email, he described it as "a quiet victory" and wrote:
"I am brash enough to feel that Horace and I have had something to do with keeping a sizable friendly population safe for all this time. Now, almost seventy years later that still feels pretty good."
In 1952, Underwood finished his military service, married Carol Lutz and raised four children. He spent most of the next four decades in Korea ― mainly with Seoul Foreign School where he served as headmaster from 1961 until he retired in 1992 and returned to the United States.
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| Richard F. Underwood as headmaster of Seoul Foreign School in 1981/ Korea Times Archive |
Richard F. Underwood died peacefully on June 25, 2023, with members of his family by his side. His son, Fred, shared on social media that his father, when speaking about his own parents, would often say: "I can feel their presence in a word, an aroma, a phrase of music or a shared sight re-seen or remembered. They are not lost, just out of sight."
Although Richard is now "out of sight," he is not forgotten. His words and memories live on forever in his autobiography, which I highly recommend for those interested in first-hand accounts of life in Korea, especially during the Japanese occupation and the Korean War. My sincere condolences to the Underwood family for their loss.
Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
