In the sad news department, Susan Ahn Cuddy passed away in her sleep at her house in Northridge, California, on June 24. She lived a full life from 1915 to 2015, making her a full 100 years old. 

She had given a speech the day before to a youth gathering sponsored by the Korean American Coalition in Los Angeles. I was not there, but I can tell what her speech was about because I have often seen her tell young people, “Be a good American, but don’t forget your Korean heritage.” These are the words her father Ahn Chang-Ho told her when she was eleven years old as he was leaving for Shanghai, where he served the Provincial Government of Korea in exile.

Throughout her life, Susan did exactly that. She was a good American, but she never forgot her Korean heritage. She told everyone who she was wherever she went, as a class president in her junior high school, as a field hockey player in her high school, as a baseball player in her high school and college, as a Navy recruit and an officer during World War II.

In her early naval service days, Susan Ahn told Jane Noland, a reporter for the Atlanta Constitution, about her father, and Noland’s story was printed on the front page of the Saturday morning edition on March 27, 1943. The story read: “Kin of Korean Hero Proud to Be WAVE” in bold lettering with a picture of Susan Ahn in full uniform. The caption read, “FIRST DAUGHTER OF AHN CHANG HO ― Daughter of a Korean hero … American-born Susan Ahn feels that ‘father would be proud’ because she is a WAVE. She graduates today from the Navy’s Link Trainer School here, and will teach America’s airmen.” She went on to become the first woman gunnery officer in the U.S. Navy.

Her father’s cause, as well as her mother’s, was the independence of Korea. Their cause became hers, and she devoted herself to that cause. When the war was over, she was in Washington, where thousands of jubilant people filled the streets in a huge VJ (Victory over Japan) celebration. She did not celebrate with them. She just sighed, “Finally ...” and went to sleep. With Japan’s defeat, she was certain that Korea would become independent, her father’s lifelong wish. Her father passed away seven years before, without witnessing Korea’s independence, and she did not feel like celebrating.

As it turned out, the euphoria that came with the liberation of her Korea did not last long. Her Korea was cut into two pieces, the South and the North, and she knew that this division was not what her father had in mind. In the meantime, she had moved on to Naval Intelligence and then the National Security Agency as a code breaker, when the Soviet-made tanks rolled into the South in an all-out invasion. The US intelligence community was turned upside down then, with accusations of incompetence for failing to report the massive military build-up by Kim Il-sung’s army along the South-North border prior to the invasion. It quickly became apparent that her Korea was the battleground for the Cold War, an ideological showdown between the East and the West. Susan was in the middle of it, this time, deciphering coded Russian messages.

She married a fellow code breaker by the name of Frank Cuddy, who was not Korean. Her mother Helen did not approve of the marriage and stopped talking to her for five years. Then came Christine, her precocious daughter, who followed around her grandmother, calling after her “Halmoni! Halmoni!” These Korean words (for “grandmother”) out of the babe’s mouth melted her grandmother’s heart, and Susan became her mother’s daughter again. When her son Philip was born, Halmoni took the boy’s hand and taught him Korean ways, especially about his grandfather, Dosan Ahn Chang-Ho. Thus, Korean heritage continued to flow in the Ahn-Cuddy household. Frank was supportive, and accommodated her endless activities involving the Korean community, and she was grateful. She was a community resource and leadership mentor in all her remaining years.

Her list of awards and recognition for her community service fills a page and more. More importantly, she left an indelible impression on countless young Korean Americans, as she told them, “I like being Korean. Unless you respect your heritage, you will never find your own identity.” When she spoke of being Korean, she did not distinguish the North from the South. Her parents were born in Pyongyang, and there was no such thing as a north or a south back then. She dreamed that her Korea would be one again, someday. Just as her father passed on without seeing independent Korea, she passed away without seeing one Korea, a sad note for them, as well as the rest of the Koreans.

John H. Cha lives and writes in Oakland, California. He has written several volumes of biographies about Korean and American leaders, including “Willow Tree Shade: The Susan Ahn Cuddy Story,” “The Do or Die Entrepreneur,” “Exit Emperor Kim Jong-il” and “A Small Key Opens Big Doors.” Cha is an award-winning translator of Korean literature into English. ― Ed.