WINDOW PAINS
Pusan, Korea July 1976. No place you'd really want to be if you could be anywhere else. I was there courtesy of the U.S. Navy. "They" thought it would be a great idea to do a joint training exercise with the ROK Marines. Eleven days of 24 hour a day operations left the crew exhausted. Then we got liberty. Four days of drunken debauchery.
I headed straight for Green Street. I'd heard the stories about this fabled district where prostitution is the only business for twelve square blocks. I arrived at dusk as the lights were coming on, bathing the area in garish pink, green, red and violet neon. Every building wrapped in flashing lights with music blasting from speakers mounted above picture windows. Each window surrounded by men four and five deep, all eyes inward.
Over the heads and shoulders I could make out the tops of women's heads, faces down-turned, spaced about two feet apart. Walking past window after window it was the same thing, my vision always blocked by the crowd, giving me just glimpses of what lay beyond.
Frustrated, I forced my way through the largest crowd, determined to see inside. Squeezing between two German Sailors I at last could see. I stumbled back horror-stricken, fighting the urge to vomit with tears filling my eyes.
The vision haunts me to this day. Six little girls, none older than ten, sitting on the carpeted floor wearing blue jumpers, gray blouses, snowy white ankle socks and nothing else, sat with their legs spread wide, revealing themselves for all to see. Above them a sign stated, "Little Girl All Night $250 USD."
To this day I feel like crying when I see a little girl in snowy white ankle socks.