General Richard S. Whitcomb's Golden Legacy: Part 2

The Koryo Mine was the most important of the KCMC's mines and probably the most visited by American tourists. K.P. Hong / Stars and Stripes, All Rights reserved. Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection

• Published Nov 20, 2022 8:53 AM KST
• Updated Nov 20, 2022 7:53 PM KST

By Robert Neff

The Korean Consolidated Mining Company (KCMC) operated mines throughout the peninsula ― most of them were at very isolated and inaccessible sites. The most important of these camps was Koryo Mine. Despite spending a great deal of money on improving the infrastructure, the company not solve the site's transportation problems.

According to the KCMC's equipment expert, Thomas Jefferson Coolidge Jr.:

“The access road is just a rocky river bed which kept the mechanics busy working of KCMC's two old British Army trucks, on blocks now that all the heavy equipment has been moved in. Another problem was moving the heavy equipment into place, once it had been unloaded at river level. An inclined track with a capstan hauled this equipment up the slope manually. Rock, cement, gravel, sand, water, and timber were carried up the mountain on men's backs. Timber was brought to the mine in a regular lumberjack style log drive on the river.”

Despite its transportation problems, Koryo Mine was well-supplied and the handful of American miners assigned to the camp lived relatively comfortable lives. However, for the lone American miners at the smaller camps, things were a little more rustic.

Much of what we know about the KCMC comes from the notes and remembrances of Frederic Dustin, an English-teacher-turned-gold-miner, who was stationed at the small mining camp known as Tongsan Mine. Dustin was the only American at the camp and according to him, Tongsan Mine was one of those places that civilization overlooked.

He claimed that during his two years at the mine he was never once truly warm but he was happy. His residence had no electricity (there was a generator but it was used only for the mine), no telephone and only an old radio and handful of books to keep him entertained. Most of his food had to be procured locally. Whitcomb occasionally sent packages of spaghetti, macaroni, powdered milk and cartons of canned pork and beans and canned bacon.

Chickens were readily available in the local market and every week a pig was butchered in the nearby village ― some of the pork was offered to the miners. Women in the village ― their husbands worked in the mines ― also provided Dustin with kimchi which he battered and lightly fried.

He also hunted pheasants, geese and ducks and caught grasshoppers in summer from the fields surrounding the mine and fry them in oil. He insisted Weston Oil was the best oil to use for this delectable treat. The creek near the mine supplied the camp with fresh fish which could be roasted or made into stews. Crawdads (crayfish) were also harvested from the creek and given to one of the village women who used them in her soups.

Although the camp had a well, the water was not very good and had to be boiled before it could be used. Naturally, cheap beer became “one of the staples” to his diet and was purchased in the village's small store. The well may not have been able to supply safe drinking water but it was able to keep his beer cold.

Despite Koryo Mine's inaccessibility to trucks and vehicles, it was accessible by foot. The mine was located near a train station and because of its close proximity to Seoul, was frequently visited by potential investors and just curious foreign residents of Seoul. I believe the Royal Asiatic Society also had one or two tours to the mine.

Many of these excursions were organized by Whitcomb who likely viewed them as an excellent way to advertise his company. Reporters from the American Armed Forces newspaper, Stars and Stripes, also visited the mine on several occasions.

Tongsan, however, was a great distance away from Seoul and rarely visited by anyone other than fellow KCMC's employees and the occasional adventuresome newspaper reporter. All visitors were welcome distractions as Dustin's only companion ― save for a couple of English-speaking Korean miners ― was his dog, Sanyo.

Dustin's only escape from the isolated post was when he had to transport the camp's gold to Whitcomb in Seoul. In the late 1890s and early twentieth century, the Oriental Consolidated Mining Company (OCMC) in northern Korea used to transport its gold in large wagons guarded by heavily-armed men who occasionally had to fight off marauding Chinese bandits, but in the early 1960s, Dustin traveled by bus ― the small gold button safely tucked into his pocket.

Whitcomb was extremely worried (Dustin described him as being paranoid) the miners would steal the gold, but, according to Dustin, gold was rarely, if ever, stolen from Tongsan Mine. There were thefts but it was mainly supplies ― especially dynamite. The dynamite wasn't stolen for nefarious means but rather as a tool for fishing. Almost once a week, either in the morning or in the late evening, the sharp boom of dynamite echoed through the valley. The “fishermen” would use the dynamite to stun the fish in the deep pools of the creek.

Theft was not the only thing Whitcomb worried about ― he was also concerned with the safety of his employees. Many Americans residing in Korea preferred to travel about in taxis but Whitcomb “frowned on taxi riding because of the danger of bad driving.” He preferred his American employees to travel by bus, which he apparently viewed as the lesser of the two evils.

Mining is inherently a dangerous occupation but surprisingly there were very few serious accidents involving KCMC employees. Most of the medical emergencies were health issues unrelated to actual mining. Koryo Mine, because of its size, was especially plagued with medical emergencies.

According to a KCMC's newsletters dated Jan. 10, 1962, so many of the company's employees were admitted to Severance Hospital in Seoul that winter that one of its room became known as “the KCMC suite.” One of the first occupants of the “KCMC Suite” was the Koryo Mine's accountant who received emergency surgery for an undisclosed ailment “after his dramatic helicopter rescue by General Whitcomb.” The next patient was the chief engineer and geologist who suffered from kidney stones, fortunately for him, the hospital's “assays did not show any better than 'trace.'” He was soon followed by the superintendent of Koryo Mine. His chief complaint was an ulcer but with a liberal “diet of coca cola, creme de menthe” and a little vacation in Incheon, he was soon well enough to return to work “without any knife work.” Unfortunately, Cyanide Lee was not so lucky. His stomach pains turned out to be an obstruction in his bowels requiring surgery ― he eventually fully recovered.

At Tongsan Mine there were other types of medical emergencies. Dustin recalled he had to shoot a dog lurking near the mine because it was acting strange and foaming at the mouth. It was a prudent act but one that earned him trouble with the authorities. The dog's owner was furious Dustin had shot his dog and subsequently complained to the local police. Dustin was forced to surrender his shotgun, but did so only after removing part of its firing mechanism. It was a petty act that even a half century later he could not explain other than to say it just felt right.

About a year after the shotgun had been confiscated, the dog's owner returned to the mine with a strange request ― he needed the urine of virile and healthy young men to make a medicine to help ease his pain from an injury he sustained from falling out of a tree. Dustin and the miners kindly provided him with the necessary urine.

Dustin had his own urine encounter. In December 1962, he accidently splashed some acid in his eye while working in Tongsan's warehouse. With a terrible burning in his right eye, he rushed out of the warehouse in search of some water to rinse his eyes ― the only water readily available was the liquid under the rabbit cages. Without hesitation, he used it. Half-blinded, he staggered to the bus stop and caught a rural bus and after a two-hour trip on rough and bumpy roads arrived in Jeonju. Fortunately, his eye suffered no permanent damage. According to Dustin, “the doctor surmised that there were probably good bacteria in that [rabbit] water that benefitted [my] eye.”

Although Dustin recovered from the accident, it caused him to reconsider his career. He decided mining was just too dangerous and difficult, especially considering he was not being paid with anything but promises, and quit in the summer of 1963.

Dustin later fondly recalled that “the greatest experience of my life [was] those couple of years at Tongsan Mine, the dream of the General, the hands-on of actually digging gold out of a mountain, the unique experience (certainly now in retrospect) of living so 'romantic' a life as that of an actual gold miner.”

Some might argue that the legacy of the KCMC ended when Richard S. Whitcomb died on July 12, 1982, but I believe it lived on until Frederic Dustin's death on May 5, 2018. All of the KCMC's American gold miners have passed and we are left only with the “nodaji” of Dustin's anecdotes and memories.

I would like to express my appreciation to Diane Nars for her assistance and for allowing me to use images from her collection and also Catherine Giordano, supervising archivist for Stars and Stripes, for granting permission for the images in Nars' collection to be used.

Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.