Cherry blossoms and memories: Jinhae in 1969

A view of the crowds at the Cherry Blossom Festival at Jinhae in April 1969 / Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

• Published May 3, 2025 10:40 AM KST

Throughout Korea, some of the most anticipated spring events are the annual cherry blossom festivals held across the country. A quick perusal of the internet reveals countless videos and pictures taken by residents and visitors alike. The celebration of spring’s arrival through blooming cherry blossoms isn’t a recent phenomenon either, as shown by old photographs and postcards of the palace grounds and city parks. Of all these festivals, perhaps the most famous is the one held in Jinhae, now part of Changwon, South Gyeongsang Province.

It didn’t start as a festival of flowers, but as a celebration of Korea’s greatest naval hero, Yi Sun-sin. A memorial for Admiral Yi was first held in 1952, but by the early 1960s, the cherry blossoms had become an integral part of the event and attracted not only a large number of Korean citizens from other parts of the country, but also a handful of foreign residents.

One of these foreign residents was Frederic Dustin, an American who first came to Korea in 1952 as an American soldier during the Korean War and later returned as an educator, gold miner, newspaper copy editor, businessman and government contractor. In April 1969, Dustin and a Korean friend traveled to Jinhae, where he left behind a brief account of their trip.

They drove from Busan and stayed at Nakcheon Hotel — a delightful little establishment with a small courtyard populated by a number of small trees and presided over by a beautiful magnolia tree. The rooms surrounded this courtyard and were rather Spartan, three meters by three meters and furnished with only a small stand and a “yo” — a thick mat or blankets placed upon the floor and used as a mattress.

Dustin was usually meticulous in keeping records of his expenses, but in this case, he merely noted that he gave a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blended Scotch Whisky — Red Label — for their hotel stay, which included a simple breakfast of rice and a bowl of crawdad soup.

The next morning, they joined the crowds, sightseeing and snapping photos. Dustin’s pictures capture a time when the average Korean was unable to travel abroad, and even domestic travel was an adventure filled with long train and bus rides, rustic accommodations and enforced camaraderie. There is a sense of innocence and wonder in Dustin’s kaleidoscope of images. Curious children being cautioned not to run in front of the camera, bulls pulling carts of goods through the streets, empty noodle boxes and a scowling street photographer trying to sell souvenir snapshots.

Some of Dustin’s handwritten annotations on the backs of the photographs feel overly simplified — and sometimes inaccurate. For example, when describing the memorial to Admiral Yi, he wrote:

“Modern Korea began in 1392. Cogorio, Shila dynasty — Korido collapsed in the 11th century A.D. For 200 years many groups fighting among themselves. Yi dynasty [was the beginning] of modern Korea. [In] 1592, Japan invasion of Korea up to 1613. [Yi Sun-sin] launched the turtle ship and conquered the Japanese navy.”

Years later, Dustin probably viewed these notes with some degree of embarrassment. But I see them more as a measure of achievement — a sign of the many foreigners in Korea who began their journey with flawed understanding and gradually deepened their knowledge. Our first impressions are often riddled with errors, misperceptions and biases, but those early misunderstandings become stepping stones toward a more genuine understanding and appreciation of our host nation.

The cherry blossoms and the admiral’s monument weren’t the only attractions. Several of Dustin’s photographs show him bargaining with a street vendor selling seashell necklaces. At first, it is just the two of them. In later photos, a small crowd of children gathers around — though Dustin himself is obscured by a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. Another image shows Dustin standing next to a series of booths selling cherry blossoms to visitors. Unfortunately, he didn’t take any photos of the interiors or the items for sale.

One of the most popular spots for visitors was the pagoda-shaped radio tower perched atop Tapsan (now known as Mount Jehwang) overlooking the port. Dustin didn’t explain the significance of the tower’s design, but according to information found online, it was meant to symbolize a Korean warship of the past.

The tower was reached by a long staircase that wound its way up the slope, passing a large white pigeon roost at the halfway point. One of Dustin’s black-and-white photographs from the bottom of stairs captures a striking contrast between eras: elderly men and women dressed in traditional white clothing, while the younger visitors wear modern outfits.

I believe this might have been Dustin’s first visit to Jinhae, but it wasn’t his last. Dustin developed a love for the sea and in his twilight years had toyed with the idea of returning to the United States aboard a cargo ship to visit his family. Unfortunately, due to his age, this was not possible.

Dustin spent his final days on Jeju Island, managing Kimnyoung Maze Park, surrounded by cats, friends and those who loved him. He passed away on May 5, 2018. But no one truly dies as someone remembers them — and Dustin is still well remembered.

As for Jinhae, the city remains one of the most popular cherry blossom destinations in Korea. The tower Dustin photographed still stands, and visitors can still climb the 365-step staircase to the summit. For those less inclined to make the arduous climb, there is now a monorail that offers a scenic ride to the top.