• scattered street lamps and no activity to speak of. Pyongyang after dark was
truly a ghost town. On one occasion I purposely left a single small light
burning in my room. I then left briefly and returned. In my absence some-
one had entered the room and switched off the light, even though I had been
gone less than five minutes. Few of the electrically driven transportation
systems appeared to be running on a regular basis—most people walked to
their destinations or waited in line for public transportation. There were no
taxis, no bicycles, and only a few small buses, which appeared to be oper-
ated for the benefit of special groups rather than as part of the public trans-
portation network.
On our first night in Pyongyang, I accompanied another member of our
group to a small bar in the basement of the Koryo Hotel. At this bar, which
was only for foreigners, were about ten people, all men, from a variety of
countries. The foreign community in Pyongyang was quite small, so when
we entered we were immediately recognized as newcomers. One of the
people next to me, a Frenchman, introduced himself and asked what coun-
try we were from. I replied that we were Americans. At this time, from a few
seats away, I heard a loud voice say in Korean, “American rascal! Crush him!
We will crush American Imperialism!”
This voice came from a husky-looking North Korean wearing his Kim Il
Sung button. He was obviously part of the security apparatus assigned to
monitor activities and conversations at the several small bars in central
Pyongyang serving the foreign community. I paused for a moment and then
responded in an equally loud voice and also in Korean, “Why would you
want to crush me?” He was surprised and taken aback that I understood
Korean, and he appeared embarrassed. Later we had a drink together and
a good laugh. It turned out that this fellow had once visited New York, of
which he was very proud, since North Koreans were not allowed to travel
overseas under normal circumstances. At any rate, we ended the evening
on a friendly basis, and thankfully I was not “crushed.”
I had an acquaintance in Pyongyang who had been there for sometime
and knew the city well. At one time this individual had been assigned to the
Czech-Polish contingent on the Neutral Nations Supervisory Commission,
which was at a small camp near Kaesong. We had become acquainted at
that time, and now he was the Czech ambassador in Pyongyang. On the
second day of our visit, he hosted a private luncheon for General Stilwell
and myself, and that evening he volunteered to take me around town.
Nightlife in Pyongyang was almost nonexistent, but there were a few
small bars similar to the one in the hotel. These establishments, I was told,