I was born in Memphis near the conclusion of World War II, I subsequently relocated to Dallas. My father’s name was Leo J. Williams, and my mother’s name was Martha Mary (Harrell). My family included one brother and one half-sister. I was raised in the Catholic faith and enrolled in a Jesuit Seminary. After four years, I concluded that I did not wish to pursue the priesthood. I communicated my desire to depart to the supervising priest. He informed me that he would need to write to Rome for a dispensation, as I had already taken temporary vows of Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience.
My father was a Secret Service man and his job took him to different places.
My education was rigorous, imparted by Nuns and Jesuits.
I have a fond memory of attending the cinema, and my favorite films were Lawrence of Arabia and Chicago. The admission cost was $0.25. The Majestic Theatre, located near my neighborhood of Oak Cliff, where Lee Harvey Oswald was apprehended. I had consistently viewed Dallas as an unremarkable city. I recall gathering a group of French performers at Southern Methodist University (SMU). They, too, considered Dallas to be an uninteresting city.
I relocated to New Orleans and secured employment as a disc jockey at a radio station, WJBW. Following a severe cold, I was advised to seek a more stable living arrangement, as I was sleeping on two chairs. Subsequently, I was able to enroll in a Merchant Marine school in St. Petersburg, Florida.
During World War II, while attending St. Edward’s grammar school, which was operated by the nuns in Dallas, I developed an early interest in the French language. A classmate’s family lived across the street; his father was French, originally from Tahiti, and his wife was from a Caribbean island, also French. The fall of France in 1940 profoundly upset me, leading me to become involved in a pro-French group, particularly in New Orleans. As a volunteer, I assisted with displaying French flags featuring the Cross of Lorraine. This engagement sparked my interest in the language. By the time I formally commenced French studies, I already possessed a proficient French accent. I also had a foundational understanding of German, Italian, some Spanish, and Japanese, the latter being a particularly challenging language for Americans. My interest in Japan was already established from reading encyclopedic entries, even during the period of anti-Japanese sentiment.
Upon graduation, I began working for the Merchant Marines, initially aboard tankers and later on a cargo ship. This vessel allowed me to travel to my desired destinations in Europe, specifically Italy, Greece, and Turkey. We were granted several days for exploration while docked. During a return trip, I decided to visit my family and a girlfriend I had met. It was at this time I saw headlines announcing that North Korea had invaded South Korea, and I surmised that this event would likely involve me.
Following this, I enlisted in the Army and was subsequently sent to basic training at Camp Chaffee, Arkansas. The training involved arduous overnight excursions, which was quite awful, followed by a return in the morning. Given the difficulty of the regimen, upon returning, I collapsed onto my bunk, and someone subsequently captured a photograph of me lying face down.
Subsequently, I was assigned to a leadership school where I received Officer training and artillery training at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. Following this, I was deployed to Korea. I have always been apprehensive, (afraid) about flying, having grown up watching movies in which aircraft frequently crashed. Therefore, my journey involved flights to California, then Hawaii, then Guam, and eventually to Japan, concluding with my arrival in Pusan.
The Korean War was ongoing for several years, my service was from 1952 to 1953. North Korean forces had initially driven American troops back to Pusan, but General MacArthur’s successful landing at Inchon fragmented the North Korean advance, forcing a retreat northward. Therefore, I did not serve in Korea during the most intense period of the conflict; the front lines had stabilized and were approximately in their current position.
I was initially assigned to Kunwaha in the Chowas Valley. I was dispatched to an outpost situated in the middle of the valley, exposed to both sides. After only a few days there, a jeep carrying a General arrived across the valley. He was wearing a bright red scarf and had come to visit me. He told me I could call in fire, which led me to believe that I was now vulnerable to enemy attack.
One of the most notable engagements occurred when I was assigned to Hill 347, which overlooked Pork Chop Hill. The elevation I was positioned on rose approximately 400 feet above Pork Chop Hill. It was a strategically small hill that frequently changed hands. The Chinese forces would capture it, and then the Americans would retake it. By the conclusion of the war, both hills ultimately fell within North Korea.
Off to the left was Old Baldy, a big hill with a flat top. That hill had been taken by an Ethiopian Brigade. There was a rumor that they would slit your throat but I didn’t see any slit throats. Then the troops turned the hill over to the Colombians force while they were overrun. The American officers wanted to know what the Chinese were doing on Old Baldy? So I was sent as a forward artillery observer along with the infantry. I went up to the top with a platoon and we were told not to take the hill but to come back with information. So we started out at night following an old trench line that belonged to the Americans and got half way up and spent the night in an old bunker.
Next morning just before dawn went up the rest of the hill. Got up to the top of the hill and spread out a little and then suddenly Chinese troops popped up and started firing. So the instructions I had were that the platoon picked out coordinates for them to pick out for them to fire. We’re on this hill and we will be calling in some fire up here. When the firing started I was on my phone and we were all running back to where we started. I ran into a roll of barbed wire and fell flat on my face and my phone, my helmet. They were telling us “Come on” “Come on”. 4 of us couldn’t make it to the bunker. 4 couldn’t make it to the fence line and so we got down. I hoped I didn’t break my back. Fortunately the Chinese didn’t shoot at us. There you’re disoriented .
We began our movement toward what we believed to be the American position. As we ascended a hill, a soldier emerged. “Do not shoot, do not shoot, for God’s sake, we are Americans!” I questioned the appropriateness and maybe that was the wrong thing to say; however, it proved correct. We then proceeded up another incline, where an American soldier appeared and warned, “Return; you are currently in a minefield.” We ultimately reached the base of the hill and attained safety.
I was a Forward Artillery Observer. I was assigned to the 32nd Artillery unit, but primarily conducted patrols with the infantry of the 7th Army, serving as a Forward Artillery Observer.
But when I’m back in the batteries I’m with the Artillery again. Then when I was at the front I was with the Army. A battle was going on at some point. I was with infantry that was held in reserve and there were already bodies lying on the ground. Eventually we took a nap in sleeping bags. I never got a rain proof coating so I got so wet but it didn’t interrupt my sleeping. The next morning my head was spinning and I couldn’t talk straight. So they took me to a field hospital. At the hospital a soldier came up to me who told me the unit had been chewed up.
From my vantage point on the tall hill, designated as Hill 347, I could observe the Chinese forces advancing, presumably for a meal. I promptly requested a fire mission, which resulted in rounds landing short, long, and on target. Recognizing that they were aware of the forward observer’s location, suddenly, “Boom, Boom!” two explosions occurred, and smoke began emanating from the rear of the cave. I immediately dropped the phone and moved to the back of the cave to contact the battery. They inquired why I had abandoned the fire mission. I handed the phone to my Sergeant to provide an explanation. I then asked, “Should I resume the fire mission?” They replied, “No,” and the mission was concluded. As we descended the hill, the infantry expressed relief, stating, “We thought you were dead.”
I experienced a recurrence of a condition, left frontal sinusitis, which I had first developed in Dallas many years ago as a child. As a youngster, we occasionally traveled across town to a hospital where they administered treatment directly into my nose, and over time, the condition resolved. It did not return until I was in Korea. During the latter part of my deployment, approximately nine or ten months prior, it began again. My eyes were frequently tearing up. The artillery Captain received notice that I was to immediately return to the front, but my own Captain contacted them and stated that if they did so, he guaranteed I would be sent back shortly thereafter.
My Captain instructed the other Lieutenant to drive me to the field hospital. The physician informed me that he was transferring me to another hospital for treatment. Upon taking X-rays, they confirmed the object was indeed present.
I was subsequently transferred to Osaka Hospital in Japan, where I was informed I would be sent home. I held a great fondness for Japan and had studied the language to some degree. I was granted a day or two to tour Osaka and Kyoto. The attending physician, in fact, accompanied me. We toured the major sites, particularly in Kyoto, which had served as the capital of Shogun Japan. I especially appreciated the temples. I was very impressed with Japan. Japan’s surrender occurred in 1945. I was stationed in Korea in 1952 and then in Japan. We were treated with great courtesy, which is why many years later they returned as tourists. My stay in Japan lasted one week.
Toward the end of my tour in Korea, the staff decided that we needed to dismiss all of our Korean workers. I would return to the battery, where there was one small Korean gentleman we used to call Sukoshi who had a weathered arm. He developed a fondness for me and would attempt to take my hand when we walked. I, however, would place his hand over my shoulder.
Suddenly, one day we were required to release all of our Korean workers. I first approached the Captain and secured another Lieutenant to accompany me. I explained to the Captain that there were some workers for whom we had developed an affection, and we would like to attempt to transport them back to Seoul so that they would not be simply abandoned.
The Captain responded, “There will be no disagreement between me and my officers over anything as inconsequential as a Korean laborer.”
Consequently, we dropped them off at the railroad station. Seoul was in a state of ruin, as that is where the war concluded.
I did not interact with the Korean soldiers, but I did with the soldiers assigned to the work battalion. I would meet with the officer in charge and provide powdered coffee. There was always a small pot of coffee with boiling water, ensuring we always had hot coffee. One day, they brought me some Kimchi. I went to Yahoo, and they said, “funny Americans.”
During my time on the battlefields, I typically consumed C-rations, which were quite unappetizing. Consequently, I was not particularly focused on sustenance, and there were no proximate villages from which to procure fresh provisions. I have a strong preference for Asian cuisine, particularly Chinese food, and to a lesser extent, Japanese.
The conflict in Korea is often referred to as the Forgotten War. Upon my return, I was treated at a hospital in Japan before being flown back to the United States, specifically to an Army base in California. Subsequently, I traveled by bus from San Francisco to San Antonio for my official discharge.
I was honorably discharged from the Army in 1952 to pursue an officer commission. I did not receive any decorations. My rank at the time of discharge was E-5.
Upon my return from Korea, where I had married prior to my deployment, I established residence in San Francisco, an area distinguished by the ocean, the bay, and the Golden Gate Bridge. My wife, Hildegard, was of German origin, and we had met while attending business school. Following my return, I was uncertain regarding my professional path, despite having received a robust education from San Francisco State College before it attained university status under Governor Reagan—a distinction that requires an additional year of study.
Representatives from the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) suggested that I pursue either a career as a librarian or as a teacher. Given that teaching involves considerable public scrutiny and interaction with parents, I opted for librarianship. I subsequently earned a Master’s degree in Library Science from the University of California, Berkeley. My inaugural library position was in Los Angeles, but after three years, I chose to return to Berkeley, where I accepted a position in the university library. I then obtained a Master’s degree in French language from UC Berkeley and spent the remainder of my career in the libraries.
My wife and I had been married for only a short period and had no children. I did not remarry as I was not interested in doing so.
I purchased a residence in the Southern Hills above San Francisco, which offered views of the ocean, the bay, and the downtown area. One morning, I walked out onto my driveway, where the yard sloped sharply, to inspect the ice plants I had cultivated to minimize watering the lawn. I noticed a small piece of debris and, as I bent to pick it up, I lost my balance and fell face-first onto the ice plant. I extended my arm but was unable to arrest my fall, ultimately impacting the neighbor’s cement driveway. This incident necessitated an operation on my elbow, and I was hospitalized, experiencing a period of delirium. Eventually, my half-sister arrived and flew me to Dallas. I have resided in Midlothian ever since, which I consider my home.
Bloody Battles of the Korean War
After Communist North Korean forces invaded South Korea on June 25, 1950, the early stages of the Korean War were marked by huge advances up and down the Korean peninsula in which United States, South Korean and the United Nations (U.N.) forces fought against North Korean and Communist Chinese forces there. After a huge Chinese offensive from November 1950 to January 1951 and massive American counter-attack in early 1951, the war settled into a stalemate near the 38th Parallel. By July 1952 both sides had constructed such strong defensive lines that neither could undertake a major offensive without suffering World-War-I like losses. In 1952, North Korea and China had 290,000 men on the front lines and another 600,000 in reserve. The U.N. countered with 250,000 troops on the line, backed by 450,000 reserves.
During the stalemate period bloody battles were fought from entrenched positions for relatively small tactical objectives at places with names like Pork Chop Hill, Heartbreak Ridge and Bloody Ridge. The artillery fire at some of these places was so heavy that hills were reduced by 20 feet. So many mines were laid that even today hikers occasionally get their legs blown off.
James I. Marino wrote in Military History magazine: “While the two sides engaged in tedious, often exasperating truce negotiations at Panmunjom, their soldiers huddled in trench systems resembling those of World War I. The constant patrolling and artillery duels seldom made headlines at home. But occasionally battles for outposts such as Heartbreak Ridge, the Punchbowl, Capitol Hill and the Hook drew media attention, giving them propaganda value at the talks.”
Donald moved from intense training into a cold, static war where small hills and outposts changed hands repeatedly. He served as a Forward Artillery Observer with the 32nd Artillery Battalion, 7th Army, shuttling between artillery batteries and infantry patrols on exposed positions like Hill 347, Pork Chop Hill, and near Old Baldy.
OP-13 and “The Rat’s Nest”: OP-13 was a critical observation post on Hill 347 that overlooked Pork Chop Hill, used by US forces for spotting artillery. “The Rat’s Nest” was a specific, heavily fortified staging area at the base of the hill used by Chinese forces for launching assaults on the American positions
The “Rat’s Nest”: This was the nickname for the intricate network of trenches, bunkers, and tunnels that made up the defensive fortifications on and around the hill.
Endnote
Daily life and routine
- Long, exhausting shifts. Days alternated between tense observation posts and short, brutal sleeps in wet sleeping bags or crowded bunks. Overnight field problems at Camp Chaffee foreshadowed the exhaustion of front‑line duty.
- Constant movement in small units. Patrols, trench walks, and night advances along old lines were the norm. Missions were often measured in hours and yards rather than large maneuvers.
- Basic comforts were scarce. Food, dry clothing, and shelter were minimal; soldiers slept wherever they could and improvised against the cold and rain.
Combat, danger, and the front line
- Hill warfare and close fights. Small hills like Hill 347 and Pork Chop Hill were tactically vital and changed hands repeatedly. Fighting was close, chaotic, and often at night.
- Artillery duels and forward observation. As a forward observer Donald called in fire missions, watched rounds land short and long, and felt the immediate danger when the enemy knew his position.
- Sudden, disorienting encounters. Patrols could run into enemy troops or barbed wire, stumble into minefields, or narrowly avoid friendly fire. Confusion and split‑second decisions were common.
- Casualties and shock. Units could be “chewed up” quickly; seeing bodies, waking soaked and disoriented, and being evacuated to field hospitals were part of the experience.
Physical and emotional toll
- Exhaustion and exposure. Repeated wet nights, inadequate gear, and long marches produced illness and physical breakdowns.
- Fear and hypervigilance. Fear of flying before deployment and the constant threat on exposed outposts created ongoing anxiety.
- Moments of terror and relief. Close calls—explosions near a cave, thinking comrades were dead, then learning they survived—left lasting impressions.
- Disorientation after combat. Confusion, dizziness, and inability to speak clearly after intense action were common and sometimes required hospital care.
Camaraderie and small mercies
- Dependence on fellow soldiers. Survival often hinged on quick warnings from other Americans, sergeants taking over radios, and the small acts that kept men alive.
- Shared dark humor and resilience. Rumors, stories about allied brigades, and the ability to sleep despite conditions helped maintain morale.
- Pride in role. Serving as a forward observer gave Donald a crucial, if dangerous, responsibility—calling fire that protected infantry and shaped battles
What the 32nd Artillery Battalion was
The 32nd Artillery was a field artillery battalion whose job was to provide indirect fire support to infantry units on the front line. In Korea, this meant:
- Delivering high‑explosive, smoke, and illumination rounds
- Supporting infantry assaults on hills and outposts
- Conducting counter‑battery fire against Chinese and North Korean artillery
- Maintaining constant readiness for fire missions called in by Forward Observers (like Donald)
“7th Army”
This is extremely common and historically correct.
- Many artillery units had Seventh Army lineage (their organizational ancestry).
- When the Korean War began, the Army reassigned units with existing lineages to the Eighth Army in Korea.
- So a soldier could be: “32nd Artillery Battalion, 7th Army (lineage), attached to Eighth Army (operational)”
His battalion’s lineage came from the 7th Army
This means:
- The unit was born under the Seventh Army organization.
- It carried Seventh Army traditions, insignia, or administrative history.
- But in Korea, it served under the Eighth Army.
The Army Formation that was in Korean: The Eighth Army
- I Corps
- IX Corps
- X Corps
- ROK divisions
- Attached artillery battalions (including Donald’s)
The Eighth Army ran all U.S. ground operations in Korea from 1950–1953.
What the Seventh Army Was Doing During the Korean War (1950–1953)
Even though it wasn’t in Korea, the Seventh Army played a major role in global U.S. strategy:
- Defending Western Europe during the early Cold War
- Training and equipping artillery and infantry units
- Maintaining readiness against the Soviet threat
- Serving as the parent organization for many units later deployed to Korea
This is why many Korean War units have “7th Army” on their lineage documents.
What the Battalion Was in the Korean War
The 32nd Artillery Battalion was a field artillery unit responsible for delivering indirect fire in support of infantry operations. In Korea, artillery was the dominant arm of the war — more decisive than tanks or aircraft — and battalions like the 32nd were the backbone of the UN defensive line.
Their mission included:
- High‑explosive fire missions to break up Chinese assaults
- Illumination rounds to expose night attacks
- Smoke missions to conceal friendly movement
- Counter‑battery fire against Chinese artillery
- Direct support to infantry companies holding exposed outposts
This was not a rear‑area job. Artillery units were constantly targeted by Chinese guns, infiltrators, and night raids
Forward Observers were the heart of the mission
FOs like Donald were the battalion’s eyes. They lived with the infantry, not the artillerymen. That meant:
- Crawling up hills under fire
- Sleeping in bunkers, caves, or trenches
- Calling in fire while being shot at
- Calling in fire while lying flat in mud or snow
- Moving at night along trench lines
- Running wire phones, maps, and binoculars
- Being hunted by enemy snipers and mortars
- Constant danger of being overrun
- Being the first to see the enemy — and the first they tried to kill
The batteries trusted their observers completely — one wrong coordinate could kill friendly troops.
For Forward Observers (Donald’s role):
- Living with infantry platoons
- Moving at night along trench lines
- Climbing hills under fire
- Calling in fire while lying flat in mud or snow
- Running wire phones, maps, and binoculars
- Being the first target when the enemy realized artillery was being directed
Donald’s story of explosions in the cave, barbed wire, minefields, and near‑misses is exactly what FO duty looked like.
Forward Observers were:
- More exposed than infantry
- More responsible than most NCOs
- More essential to survival of the units they supported
Every fire mission he called could save — or cost — lives.
Every coordinate had to be perfect.
Every movement carried risk.
His survival is remarkable. His memory of events is historically consistent and deeply valuable.
A typical field artillery battalion in Korea consisted of:
- Battalion Headquarters
- Three firing batteries (A, B, C)
- Service battery (ammunition, transport, maintenance)
- Forward Observer teams attached to infantry units
Donald served in the most dangerous role: Forward Artillery Observer (FO).
FOs were the battalion’s eyes and ears. They lived with the infantry, climbed the hills, and called in fire missions under direct enemy fire. They were often the first target the Chinese tried to eliminate.
The battalion fought a hill war
The 32nd supported operations on:
- Pork Chop Hill
- Old Baldy
- Hill 347
- Outposts in the Ch’owas Valley
- Positions near Kunwha
These were not large sweeping battles — they were brutal, intimate fights over small ridges, trenches, and bunkers.
Hill 347 — The Overlook Above Pork Chop Hill
Hill 347 was a high observation point in the sector dominated by Pork Chop Hill and Old Baldy. It rose roughly 400 feet above Pork Chop Hill, giving anyone positioned there a commanding view of the surrounding valleys, trench lines, and Chinese troop movements. That elevation made it:
- a prime artillery observation post,
- a dangerous forward position, and
- a constant target for Chinese counter‑fire.
For a Forward Artillery Observer like Donald, Hill 347 was exactly the kind of place the Army relied on—and the kind of place the enemy feared.
Hill 347 wasn’t famous because of a single dramatic battle; it was important because of what it overlooked.
From its summit, observers could see:
- Pork Chop Hill, one of the most contested outposts of the war
- Old Baldy, a flat‑topped hill fought over by U.S., Ethiopian, Colombian, and Chinese forces
- Chinese supply routes feeding the front
- Night movements, cooking fires, and troop rotations
In a war defined by ridgelines and outposts, whoever controlled the high ground controlled the fight. Hill 347 was the eyes of the sector.
Chinese forces knew that American observers were positioned there.
For Donald, Hill 347 wasn’t just a hill—it was a workstation, a responsibility, and a lifeline for the infantry below.
From that height, he would:
- watch for Chinese troop movements
- call in artillery fire
- adjust rounds (short, long, on target)
- coordinate with batteries miles behind the line
- protect infantry patrols with timely fire missions
Every call he made had life‑or‑death consequences.
When the Chinese realized where the fire was coming from, they targeted the observers.
Hill 347 was part of the Outpost War—the brutal, grinding phase of 1952–1953 when the front lines barely moved, but casualties remained high. The U.S., Eighth Army and Chinese forces fought over. These positions were attacked, lost, retaken, and shelled relentlessly.
Hill 347 was one of the places where the war was watched, measured, and fought in miniature—a place where a handful of men could influence the fate of hundreds. Hill 347 is one of the clearest windows into the danger he faced and the strength he carried.
The battalion lived in a world of mud, cold, and noise
Artillery units were positioned behind the infantry but still within range of:
- Chinese artillery
- Constant digging of gun pits and revetments
- Mortar fire
- Shells stacked shoulder‑high
- 24‑hour readiness
- Night raids
- Sabotage patrols
Gun crews worked in freezing temperatures, mud up to their ankles, and constant exhaustion.
What daily life looked like for the 32nd Artillery
In the batteries (rear positions):
- 24‑hour fire‑mission readiness
- Hauling shells, maintaining guns, digging revetments
- Sleeping in tents or bunkers
- Eating quickly, often cold food
- Listening for the phone to ring with a fire mission
- Enduring constant noise — outgoing fire, incoming counter‑battery, aircraft overhead
For Forward Observers (Donald’s role):
- Living with infantry platoons
- Moving at night along trench lines
- Climbing hills under fire
- Calling in fire while lying flat in mud or snow
- Running wire phones, maps, and binoculars
- Being the first target when the enemy realized artillery was being directed
Donald’s story of explosions in the cave, barbed wire, minefields, and near‑misses is exactly what FO duty looked like.
By 1952–1953, the Korean War had become a static, positional conflict. The 32nd Artillery’s job was to:
- Hold the line
- Prevent Chinese advances
- Support small offensive pushes
- Protect outposts
- Respond instantly to enemy probes
Artillery was the decisive weapon of the Korean War — more than tanks, more than aircraft. Units like the 32nd were responsible for the survival of entire infantry companies.
Donald’s Service Stands Out
His role placed him:
- Closer to the enemy than most artillerymen
- More exposed than most infantrymen
- Responsible for life‑or‑death decisions every time he picked up the phone
Forward Observers were among the most dangerous assignments in the war. His survival — and the detail of his memories — is extraordinary.
Old Baldy (Hill 266)
This is the hill Donald patrolled near and was sent to observe.
Casualties (verified):
- U.S. casualties: 1,952 total, including 307 killed
- Colombian Battalion: 97 killed, 33 wounded
- Chinese casualties: Over 3,000 killed and wounded (estimate)
Why casualties were so high:
Old Baldy was a flat‑topped observation hill — whoever held it could see everything.
Because of this, it was hit by:
- Massive artillery
- Night assaults
- Counterattacks
- Close‑quarters fighting
Donald’s description of Chinese troops suddenly appearing, firing, and forcing a retreat is exactly consistent with the historical record.
Pork Chop Hill (Hill 255)
Donald was positioned on Hill 347 overlooking Pork Chop Hill.
Casualties (verified):
- U.S. killed: 347
- U.S. wounded: 1,036
- U.S. captured: 9
- Chinese casualties:
- U.S. estimate: 1,500 killed, 4,000 wounded
- Chinese source: 533 killed, 1,242 wounded (July battle)
Why this matters for Donald:
Even though he wasn’t on Pork Chop Hill, he was:
- Observing it from Hill 347
- Calling fire missions into the same battle zone
- Under threat from the same Chinese artillery and infantry movements
His account of seeing Chinese troops moving “for a meal” and calling in fire is consistent with the constant troop rotations and assaults documented in this sector.
The Battle of Pork Chop Hill comprised a pair of related Korean War infantry battles during the spring and summer of 1953. These were fought while the U.S. and the Communist Chinese and Koreans negotiated an armistice. In the U.S., they were controversial because of the many soldiers killed for terrain of no strategic or tactical value. The small hill earned its name because its shape vaguely resembled a pork chop.
The United Nations, primarily supported by the United States, won the first battle when the Chinese broke contact and withdrew after two days of fighting. The second battle involved many more troops on both sides and was bitterly contested for five days before United Nations Command conceded the hill to the Chinese
The Outpost War (1952–1953)
This includes Hill 347, Kunwha, and the Ch’owas Valley where Donald served.
Casualties (context):
The Outpost War (1951–1953) was a period of:
- Small-unit battles
- Night raids
- Hilltop assaults
- Artillery duels
Casualties were continuous, even when no major battle was occurring.
The battles of Old Baldy and Pork Chop Hill were part of this larger pattern.
Even if his specific patrol or hill position wasn’t overrun on a given day, the entire region was experiencing:
- Heavy casualties
- Constant artillery fire
- Repeated Chinese assaults
- High turnover of units
- Losses among infantry he was attached to
Legacy
Donald Gartly Patrick Williams lived a life shaped by courage, curiosity, and a steady, quiet strength. His story began in the rugged hills of Korea, where he served as a Sergeant (E5) and Forward Artillery Observer with the 32nd Artillery Battalion during the Korean War. From 1952 to 1953, he walked the ridgelines and trenches of some of the most contested ground of the conflict—Hill 347, Pork Chop Hill, Old Baldy, and the Ch’owas Valley—carrying not only a radio and map case, but the weight of responsibility for the men around him.
As a Forward Observer, Donald lived with the infantry, often closer to the enemy than the artillerymen whose fire he directed. He climbed hills in darkness, slept in bunkers carved into frozen earth, and called in fire missions while shells burst around him. He survived cave explosions, barbed wire, minefields, and the disorienting chaos of night combat. He saw units “chewed up,” endured exhaustion so deep he collapsed into sleep soaked to the bone, and carried memories of comrades who never returned.
Yet even in the midst of war, Donald held onto something essential: a belief in learning, in discipline, and in the quiet power of knowledge. That belief would guide the rest of his life.
When he returned home, Donald did not allow the hardship of war to define him. Instead, he built a life rooted in service of a different kind—the service of education, literacy, and community enrichment. He pursued higher education with the same determination he had shown on the Korean hillsides, earning his Master’s degree in Library Science and becoming a professional librarian.
Where once he had carried coordinates and field maps, he now carried books, archives, and the stories of others. Where once he had guided artillery fire, he now guided students, families, and lifelong learners. His library became a place of safety, discovery, and belonging—an environment he cultivated with the same sense of duty he had shown in uniform.
Donald believed deeply in the transformative power of reading. He understood that knowledge could steady a life, open a mind, and heal a heart. He treated every patron with dignity, every question with patience, and every book with reverence. His work was not simply a job; it was a calling. He became a steward of history, a mentor to young readers, and a quiet champion of education in his community.
During his military service, Donald spent time recovering in a hospital in Japan. What began as a period of healing became a profound turning point in his life.
Japan opened his eyes to a world of beauty, discipline, and cultural richness. He was moved. This experience stayed with him long after he returned home. It planted the seeds of a lifelong love for Asian culture, especially Chinese and Japanese cuisine.
Years later, as a civilian, he returned to Japan. This time, he walked the streets not as a soldier recovering from war, but as a man seeking connection, understanding, and peace. That return visit completed a circle in his life, transforming a place of recovery into a place of joy.
His love of Asian cuisine—especially Chinese food—became one of his great pleasures. He delighted in the balance of flavors, the warmth of shared meals, and the sense of connection that came from exploring dishes rooted in the same part of the world where he had once healed. Japanese cuisine held a quieter place in his heart—subtle, refined, and meaningful, much like the language he had taken the time to learn.
Donald exhibited a remarkable aptitude for languages. He earned his Master’s degree in French and spoke with a proficient French accent. He also possessed a foundational understanding of German, Italian, some Spanish, and Japanese. Each acquired the same curiosity and discipline that characterized his life. These languages were not simply academic achievements—they were expressions of his belief that understanding another’s language is the first step toward understanding their heart.
Today, Donald is remembered not only as a soldier who faced danger with steadiness and resolve, but as a scholar who dedicated his life to learning and to helping others learn. His journey—from the trenches of Korea to the quiet stacks of the library—stands as a testament to resilience, purpose, and the enduring strength of the human spirit.
His legacy lives on in every life he touched, every student he encouraged, every book he placed in a young reader’s hands, and every moment of safety and belonging he created for others. He proved that service takes many forms, and that a life shaped by hardship can become a life that gives hope.
In both places, he served with humility.
In both places, he made a difference.
In both places, he left a legacy.
This is the story of a man who defended freedom abroad and nurtured knowledge at home—a soldier and a librarian, whose courage and compassion will be remembered for generations.