General Richard S. Whitcomb's Golden Legacy: Part 1

Richard S. Whitcomb panning for gold at Koryo Mine in 1966. The Koryo Mine was the most important of the KCMC's mines. K.P. Hong / Stars and Stripes, All Rights reserved. Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection

By Robert Neff

Recently, General Richard S. Whitcomb was posthumously awarded the Mugunghwa Medal ― Korea's highest Order of Civil Merit ― in honor of his philanthropic efforts on the peninsula. His role in Busan during the Korean War is well known but when the war ended his service to Korea did not cease. After retiring from the military in 1954, Whitcomb "devoted his life to helping war orphans and excavating the remains of U.S. soldiers." (https://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/opinion/2019/11/137_279273.html)

However, there is a part of his life on the peninsula that has been forgotten ― his golden legacy, the Korean Consolidated Mining Company.

As the story goes, President Syngman Rhee asked Whitcomb to devote some of his energy into developing Korea's economy ― specifically, gold mining. Apparently, smitten with gold fever, the retired general readily accepted and the pursuit of gold became an obsession.

According to one of Whitcomb often quoted spiels:

"Historians have long referred to Korea as the 'golden kingdom' from which many of the Khans gained the main substance of their wealth."

Whitcomb truly believed Korea was a land of gold and spent the rest of his life looking for it. His first attempt was "the Ku Ma Venture" in 1956. This mine, located in North Gyeongsang Province was the "first Western post-liberation mining interest in Korea." The Ku Ma Venture never really yielded much profit but Whitcomb was convinced that other sites would.

In the following year, Whitcomb founded the Korean Consolidated Mining Company (KCMC) ― the "first 'all out' American investment in Korea since World War II." In the beginning, the "all out American investment" came from within Korea.

Frederic Dustin recalled that Whitcomb "was a common sight at all the [American] army mess facilities talking up his mining business." When he wasn't on the army camps trying to recruit investors, he was at the Naeja Apartment complex pitching to the residents or their visitors the potential wealth to be made in mining.

The first registration issued by the Korean government to a foreign corporation under the Foreign Investment Encouragement Law. Robert Neff Collection

"Most people 'invested' a little pocket money that wasn't their last dime nor that they thought they would ever see again" but there were other investors, like 'Andy' Anderson ― the head of the American Korean Foundation and initiator of the Boy Scouts of Korea ― who invested heavily but they had funds to do so. Others were friends who "invested a couple of thousand dollars just to get him off their back and to be friendly to a retired general and to 'buy their way' into a position to have someone to talk with."

Whitcomb also spent a lot of time in the newspaper offices ― especially The Korean Republic (which later became the Korea Herald) where he was almost a permanent fixture. The KCMC advertised frequently in the English-language newspapers and magazines and Whitcomb, a perfectionist, carefully examined each advertisement before it was published. These advertisements were constantly changing but they all stressed the Korean Peninsula, prior to 1938, was the fifth largest gold producing region in the world.

Another common theme in his spiel was Serge Rubinstein. Whitcomb described him as a "former world financial figure [who] made his original fortune through mining interests in the Far East which were centered in Korea."

It is unclear why Whitcomb would reference Rubinstein considering the extremely unsavory reputation the man had in the United States and Europe. Surely Whitcomb was aware of Rubinstein's past. (https://m.koreatimes.co.kr/pages/article.amp.asp?newsIdx=109415)

If he wasn't in the Army mess facilities or the newspaper offices then he was at post office. Whitcomb constantly mailed newsletters to investors and potential investors. These newsletters, like the advertisements, extoled the mineral wealth of Korea and the potential of big profits. However, unlike the advertisements, these newsletters were more "folksy."

Map of mineral zones in Korea and mines operated by the KCMC (marked with 'x') circa late 1960s. Robert Neff Collection

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

2022-11-20 08:53 | About the past

In 1962, while describing one of mining sites as being a bonanza, he explained the meaning of nodaji:

"'Notaji' is a Korean word for high grade gold mines. Experts in the language say it means 'keep your cotton picking hands away from the high grade.' It is freely translated no touchy."

Most people agree that nodaji traces its origin to the American gold miners at the Oriental Consolidated Mining Company (OCMC) in the late 19th century. The American supervisors supposedly warned their Korean miners to "no touch" the gold. I disagree. I think the warning was in regards to supplies such as candles, blasting caps and fuses which were frequently stolen from the mines ― the average Korean miner at OCMC had little to do with the smelted gold and gold nuggets were very uncommon.

For Whitcomb, the post office was a necessary evil. He hated filling out all the paperwork involved with receiving goods from the United States as well as standing in the long lines to mail his endless newsletters. He often commented to his friends that "the post office will be the death of me."

Whitcomb's efforts, however, paid off. Within three years the KCMC had investors from 17 different countries and, if we are to believe the claims, was mining vast amounts of mineral wealth ― "in 1960, 2,047 kg of gold, 10,253 kg of silver and 5,892 kg of copper were produced."

Richard S. Whitcomb in the late 1950s. Robert Neff Collection

In addition to investors, the KCMC also needed miners. According to a 1962 newsletter, the company anticipated boosting its "employment to 3,300 persons including 3,000 laborers" and the "salaries for foreigners [would be] held to 5 percent or less." It is more than likely the company fell far short of it anticipated number of employees.

Many of the foreign employees had served with the United States military or one of the other government agencies ― including the Central Intelligence Agency. Many of them had mining and engineering knowledge but not all of them.

In 1959, Dustin (who had served in Korea as soldier in 1952/3 and later returned to Korea to teach) quit his job as an English teacher in Seoul and went to work for KCMC. When asked why he chose to give up his comfortable life as a teacher for the isolation and hardship of a miner, Dustin would, depending on his mood, give one of three reasons ― boredom, a disagreement with his school's administration or to escape a romantic entanglement.

One of the postcards of the Koryo Mine which Whitcomb had published, likely as a promotion gimmick, circa late 1960s. Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection

Like most of the foreign employees, he did not work for an actual salary but for the promise of being "amply rewarded" when "such money from production was available to [him]." There were also promises of corporation shares being given in accordance with the number of years one worked with the company but apparently no one received them ― at least he didn't. Nor was he "amply rewarded" for his hard work.

By 1966, KCMC had 500 stockholders and had invested more than a million dollars. Unfortunately, there are few, if any, company records left and most of the primary members of the company have passed on.

In an article published in the Stars and Stripes in 1966, Whitcomb explained that it wasn't "profitable to export ROK gold, which sells for $1.50 a gram in Korea and $1.10 a gram in the U.S." He ended his statement by stating the obvious ― "gold is gold and there is money in it."

However, Dustin recollection presents the picture in a different light. According to him, it was illegal for the company to export and sell gold. The Korean government purchased the gold at a much lower price than the international market and, allegedly, Whitcomb had told Dustin that the company would save as much gold as possible until it could be sold internationally.

There is no doubt that Dustin, at various times of his life, harbored some latent animosity towards Whitcomb due to the unpaid wages, an injury and the investment his parents had made in the company, yet, as the years passed, they remained relatively close. Dustin often spoke reverently about his elderly friend and when recalling his adventures as one of Whitcomb's miners, his eyes often sparkled with the excitement of a small child ― probably very similar to the way Whitcomb's eyed did when he talked about gold.

Eventually, the golden dreams began to fade and by 1980, according to Dustin, Whitcomb was pretty much running the KCMC alone as most of the non-Korean members of the company had lost interest, ran into financial difficulties or were forced to retire due to health problems. Time was running out for the company and for Whitcomb ― their fates were intertwined.

On July 12, 1982, Whitcomb passed away ― in the post office, the very place he predicted so many years ago that he would die. Shortly after his death, the KCMC faded into the past.

I would like to express my appreciation to Diane Nars 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.