. . .
The Royal Canadian Navy in Korea, as it had in previous conflicts,
fought a war much removed from the army and air force. Doctors were
few and far between, the navy having to compete for recruits with the
other two services and Canada as a whole. They were at a distinct disadvantage
as few medical practitioners were prepared to go to sea for
months at a time when there were so many more pleasant alternatives;
furthermore, the war against the North Koreans (and, eventually, the
Chinese) somehow failed to capture the public imagination in the same way
as the crusade against the Nazis. In any event, recruits with the
necessary medical skills were sufficiently rare that when one presented
himself, in the words of RCN historian Edward C. Meyers, "He was
pounced upon with the swiftness of an eighteenth-century press
gang." 3
This explains why a complete impostor, Ferdinand Demara, could join
Canada's naval service as a surgeon with the stolen credentials of a Doctor
Joseph Cyr of New Brunswick. As had his predecessors in the
Second World War, however, he found that his duties aboard HMCS
Cayuga were mainly routine steam burns, cuts, rashes, and similar complaints.
He was also fortunate in having as his assistant Petty Officer
Robert Hotchin, whose medical education was not much short of that
of a general practitioner ashore. Still, the doppelganger, as Cyr, handled
even the more stressful aspects of the job well: "The ship's records
show Demara to have performed several operations during a two month
period" as Cayuga supported South Korean amphibious raids
against the North, "ranging from the amputation of a gangrenous foot
to the removal of bullets from arms and elsewhere. He operated quickly
and efficiently, and gave no one any reason to question his talents as a
surgeon. "4
His moment of glory came in September 1951. After a raid by South
Korean commandos, called Salamanders, on the 7th, three of the raiders
were left seriously wounded and by the 10th were close to death.
Demara took one look and made a snap decision. He ordered the startled
Hotchin to bring his surgical equipment to the upper deck at once. He
quickly explained that he felt at least one would die while awaiting his
turn in the sick bay. By treating all three at once, he might be able to
pull them through. Demara did an admirable job. The worst of the three
would surely have died had treatment not been swift and expert. By thc
time he had finished he had collapsed the lung and removed a bullet
from the man with the chest wound while successfully treating the other
two as well. Demara had indeed saved the three men, but the greatest
feat was the work he did on the chest wound. While the collapse of a
lung might have been accomplished by any qualified medical assistant,
Demara had known exactly what to do and how to do it.'
The result, however, was publicity, exposure by the real Doctor Cyr,
and a quiet dismissal from the RCN—or almost. Some three decades later,
Demara attended a reunion of Cayuga's complement, where "he was
greeted with warmth by those who had known him as a friend and
shipmate twenty- eight years before. The welcome made it obvious that
Demara had made no enemies aboard Cayuga. By all accounts he enjoyed
the party." 6
. . .
