Doctor in Bataan, 1941-1942 9711004607

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DOCTOR IN BATAAN

1941-1942

DOCTOR IN BATAAN

1941-1942

by

Manuel E. de Veyra, M.D.

New Day Publishers Quezon City 1991

L) 3 Copyright 1991 by MANUEL E. DE VEYRA and NEW DAY PUBLISHERS P.O. Box 167, 1100 Quezon City, Philippines 11 Lands St., VASRA Village, Quezon City Tel. No.: 99-80-46 All rights reserved.

Cover Design: JOHN SIBAL

ISBN 971-10-0460-7

■:

To the "battling bastards of Bataan": (With "no mama, no papa, no Uncle Sam") my erstwhile comrades-in-arms, who unreservedly offered their lives for the defense of our country; And to my wife and family, who steadfastly stood by my side, spiritually and physically, maintaining our unity, loyalty and strength during those trying times . . .

I humbly and wholeheartedly dedicate these memoirs, and pray that their loyalty and love will always be remembered.

CONTENTS

Foreword by Fr. Miguel A. Bernad, S.J., 9 Prologue,

11

Chapter 1 First Call: The Training School,

13

Chapter 2 Bataan: A "Prepared Defense Position," 17 Chapter 3 "Balita," 22 Chapter 4 Medical Resources, 27 Chapter 5 Sudden Death, 31

Chapter 6 Dwindling Resources and Vanishing Hopes, 34 Chapter 7 Other Doctors, 38

Chapter 8 Nurses on Bataan and Corregidor, 50 7

Chapter 9 The Fall of Bataan, 54 Chapter 10 The Death March, 59

Chapter 11 Capas, 68 Chapter 12 The Guava Detail, 73 Chapter 13 Questioning, 76 Chapter 14 Bilibid Prison, 83 Chapter 15 Freedom, 86 Chapter 16 Taps, 90

Pictorial Section, 95

Bibliography, 101

New Day Books on World War II, 103

8

FOREWORD

THIS is an unusual book: an account of the War of 1941-1945 from the point of view of a physician. It is all here—the recruit­ ment and training of a medical corps, the hasty retreat to Bataan, the long siege, the dwindling resources, the casualties from Japanese shelling and bombing, the surrender, the Death March through Bataan and Pampanga to the horrible internment camp at Capas, the various "details" to obtain supplies, the smuggled letters; then the transfer to Bilibid Prison, and the final release. All these are given in a simple unvarnished account, with some details not perhaps known before. Dr. de Veyra comes from a family of unusual distinction. His father, Jaime C. de Veyra, was an associate of young Sergio Osmena in publishing one of the first Filipino daily newspapers of the twentieth century—El Nuevo Dia of Cebu. Like Osmena in Cebu and like Quezon in Tayabas, de Veyra became governor of his province of Leyte. He was then appointed member of the Philippine Commission, served as Resident Commissioner in the United States, and spent his maturer years as Director of the National Library. And,always, he maintained a scholarly interest in Philippine history and culture. Dr. de Veyra’s mother, Sofia Reyes de Veyra of Arevalo (Iloilo) and Negros, was, by title, social secretary but was, in fact,in charge of the house and activities of Malacanang during the Quezon presidency. Dr. de Veyra’s two sisters, Sister Rosario (RA) and Lourdes (Mrs. Exequiel Sevilla) have been teachers whose influence many women (some of whom have attained prominence) have acknowledged. 9

Dr. de Veyra’s brother, Judge Jesus de Vcyra, was perhaps one of the most extraordinary teachers of Law. He had a knack for reducing the most tangled legal technicalities into the simplest clarity. It is my regret that this outstanding lawyer and judge was not appointed to the Supreme Court, where his keen knowledge of the law, his utter honesty, and his strong sense of justice tempered with human kindness would have been great assets to that august tribunal—especially in the days of the Dictatorship when these qualities were most needed and were often wanting. 1 mention these personal details because they are not irrelevant. It was from such families that many young Filipino volunteers went to Bataan in December 1941 when they felt their country called them. One such volunteer, a young architect, newly married, said to his bride, "1 have to go or I won’t be able to live with myself. And you probably won’t respect me." It was that kind of idealism that was sacrificed in Bataan and Capas and betrayed by later politicians. Not the least of the betrayals was the abolition of "Bataan Day" and its replacement with something else "that would not offend the Japanese." For these various reasons, I congratulate Dr. de Vcyra for writing this book, and Mrs. Gloria F. Rodrigucz and New Day Publishers for publishing it.

—Miguel A. Bernad, S J. Xavier University 15 February 1991

10

PROLOGUE

"Watakusi wa, Hiripino isha dcsu" THIS Japanese expression states simply that "I am a Filipino doctor" and knowledge and use of it saved me harassment and often physical injury early in World War II and the subsequent occupation of our country. In fact, it was a common observation that the use of Japanese words, expressions or even limited fluency in Nippongo helped us in our dealings with the Japanese. And, conversely, much of the ill treatment and even cruelty practiced by the Japanese soldiers was because they could not understand us nor we them. One of our most com­ mon experiences during the occupation was the face-slapping from Japanese sentries who, upon accosting us on the road or a check-point, asked the question "Pikit?" That was the nearest they could come to asking for our "residence certificate." And the reply was a tight closing of the eyes, followed by face-slap­ ping by the sentry because of misunderstanding. {Pikit in Tagalog means closing the eyes.) These and a host of other experiences were common to our people during the war and the occupation, both for soldiers and civilians, and when friends and acquaintances learned that I had been a soldier (though a non-combatant physician) and had survived Bataan, the Death March and the enemy occupation, they were eager for details and even hailed us as "heroes" of World War II! Some even suggested that we write about our experiences, "because it was part of our history," and should be known, remembered and treasured as an epic adventure and significant chapter in the saga of Philippine history. 11

This is my personal story of those unforgettable months and years that sometimes clouded, but often shone brightly during that prime time of my life.

—Manuel E. deVeyra

12

Chapter 1

FIRST CALL: THE TRAINING SCHOOL

TO begin at the beginning, we go back to several years after graduation from medical school in 1935, when there was a slack in practice and I filed an application for commission in the Army Reserve Medical Corps, which in due time was approved. There was the provision that I should be available for special training at some future date. Hence, for several succeeding years, I received notification that there would be active training at the Medical Field Service School at Camp Murphy, with the provision that because of pressure of duties, it could be deferred to some future date. However, in mid-1941, the notice was repeated, but this time, possibly because war clouds may have been perceived on the horizon, the instruction was to report without fail on the 15th of August. There were 99 medical, dental and veterinary officers who attended the 12th Class, 1941-B, from 16 August to 26 Septem­ ber 1941,at the Medical Field Service School at Camp Murphy. It was an intensive course in both basic military and medical skills, which included close and extended order drills, map read­ ing, first aid, sanitation, and military preventive medicine, the operation of Battalion Aid stations, clearing and collecting stations, and evacuation to base hospitals, litter drill and tent pitching, field work and mess management. The author was editor-in-chief of the class souvenir book entitled The Caduceus, and we herewith quote several messages sent to us upon graduation:

General Douglas MacArthur, commanding general of the United States Army Forces in the Far East (USAFFE): 13

For want of a nail, the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe the horse was lost, etc." To no branch of the service does this old adage apply more than to the Medical Corps. Prompt, simple treatment given in time will often restore a valuable man to duty whose services would be lost for a long period of time if treatment of his wound were delayed. A young doctor graduating from medical school is fitted for his profession as well as education can make him. He must add experience in practice to fit himself for his lifework. Even after experience has made him able to take his place among the established doctors of medicine, he is still not what we call an "army doctor." The transition from a doctor of medicine serving the civilian public, to an officer of the Medical Corps ministering to the army is a difficult, arduous task. An officer of the medical corps must be prepared to perform all his tasks with limited means. He must be ingenious, resourceful and resolute. He must accus­ tom himself to a limited number of standard drugs and a dearth of medical equipment. You have just completed such a transition. You arc now graduates of the Medical Field Service School.

President Manuel L. Quezon:

The heart of an army is its officers. Upon them devolves the responsibility of professional leadership, of technologi­ cal development, of thorough instruction, of strategical distribution and of combat leadership. It is not enough that the highest officers of our army be completely qualified for performance of their important tasks. The entire commis­ sioned corps must be capable of insuring harmonious, effi­ cient and instantaneous cooperation of the whole army and all its parts toward a common end. Officers must keep abreast of every modern development in technique, of every improvement on weapons, in short, of every change that may be employed either against or by the army, so that they may more fully insure the success of its protective mission. 14

Major General Basilio J. Valdes (M.D.), Chief of Staff, Philip­ pine Army: I do not need to emphasize to you the role which the Medical Service plays in the intricate functions of a military organization. But I do desire to impress on you the need for a universal willingness to sacrifice everything for the common cause. I call upon you, therefore, to accept the challenge for service during this present crisis without reservation. Meet the obligations of the challenge with unswerving faith in our established institutions with an indomitable determination to help defend them to the last man. Our constitution clearly states that "the Philippines renounces war as an instrument of national policy, and adopts the generally accepted principles of International Law as a part of the law of the Nation." This demonstrates unequivocally that we do not covet an inch of foreign territory or an ounce of foreign material, not a penny of foreign riches. The Filipino people desire to live in peace with other nations of the world, but when some nations prefer to place their faith in the sword and ignore Interna­ tional Law, we must stand on guard to defend ourselves in any contingency.

Similar statements were also expressed by Col. Victoriano Luna, Chief of the Medical Service; and Col. Mateo M. Capinpin, Commanding Officer, 1st Regular Division, Philippine Army at Camp Murphy. The six-week intensive training in military and medical arts was successfully completed by 100 trainees, who always had in mind the "mission" of their service. In army parlance, the word "mission" means the specific task or objective of the particular group. Hence the mission of the medical service is "to conserve manpower." This is to say that its job is to treat battle casualties or illness as quickly and efficiently as possible so as to return the soldier to active duty with the least possible delay. It also infers that part of this task is to maintain good health and activity, and 15

to prevent any danger of illness or harm. Among the diverse services of an army, the Medical Corps constitutes one of the most important and indispensable of its branches. We graduated on 26 September 1941 and we quote below a fitting farewell to the army school and to the nation: With this graduation, the present class of student officers steps out into the field. It is in the natural order of things. The old blood passes out to be replaced by the new. The work undertaken by the student officers in the discharge of the school activities is essentially but an apprenticeship, opening as it were, to various channels in the military field. We leave the work in the school happy with the convic­ tion that we have done our best. We leave the confines of our school with a feeling of profound satisfaction over having fully fulfilled our part. And to those who have tutored us in our undertaking, as well as those who have struggled with us by the wayside, we feel humbly grateful. To those who are soon to take our place in this school of hard knocks, we give no high-flown phrases of advice. The policy of this school will ever remain the same, for its mis­ sion does not change with time. It must continue its life of service to the people it serves and must go on weaving its role in the ever-growing tapestry of the Army, because this is something it will necessarily impose upon itself while it is under the aegis of a young and growing nationhood. Thus we pull down the shades behind us and with eyes unblinking in the moment of departure, put our hand on the doorknob, glad that the day is done. Not even the loss of a day well-spent can put remorse in our hearts, for as time marches on, the achievements of the succeeding eras will have become too great to be disturbed by the lingering echoes of the past.

16

Chapter 2

BATAAN: A "PREPARED DEFENSE POSITION"

IMMEDIATELY after graduation from the six-week training program, most of us were sent off to newly organized infantry combat units as battalion surgeons, and some of us were assigned to the Army General Hospital at Murphy. What fol­ lowed were the usual routine hospital duties such as rounds, clinics, or specific assignments, but always under strict military rule. In the meantime, and while still a resident physician at the Baguio General Hospital in 1940, I met my future wife, Rosario Avila from Cebu, a teacher who was vacationing there at the time. We were married at the Apostolic Delegation in Manila on 27 November 1941, feast of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal. Since I was already in uniform as a duty officer at the army hospital, and we were already on a "special alert" due to the imminent danger of war with Japan, we were not allowed an official leave for a honeymoon, but "unofficially" we spent a few days in Baguio. Then came the devastating newsflash: Pearl Harbor had been bombed, destroying the greater part of the U.S. Pacific Fleet. That fleet had been composed of 70 combat ships, of which eight were battleships. It had been a successful "surprise attack" despite several reports of "squadrons of planes" coming from various directions, which were ignored because such reconnaissance had been going on and because talks were still in progress between the Japanese Ambassador and President Roosevelt over some irritants and threats around Asia for several weeks. Thus the war in the Pacific started without any official

17

declaration of war (no recent world war was officially declared as such) with the highly successful "sneak attack" on the morning of 7 December 1941, which President Roosevelt declared as a "Day of Infamy." It was already 8 December (we are 12 hours ahead of the U.S.) in Manila and within days army installations all over the Philippines and East Asia were attacked. We were im­ mediately placed on 24-hour "red alert" and could not leave camp. Because of the local bombings, we moved the army hospital from Murphy to a wing of the Quezon Institute. Since we were all now on active war footing, all medical personnel, regardless of training or specialization, were grouped into surgical teams to care for casualties as they came in from bombed areas in and around Manila. Most wounds were from shrapnel from bomb blasts. The more seriously wounded were treated in larger and better equipped civilian hospitals such as the Philippine General Hospital and private hospitals. Our patients were mainly military personnel. Others, including American soldiers, were treated at the U.S. Army Sternberg General Hospital. On 15 December 1941 all hospital personnel were inducted into the USAFFE by Col. V. Luna, Medical Service, Philippine Army. Conditions became rapidly worse, with casualties coming in regularly and in increasing numbers, as the Japanese campaign gained momentum. By mid-December enemy forces made landing in Lingayen Gulf and began their steady march to Manila. USAFFE troops tried to stem the tide of invasion, but to no avail. Hence they made a steady retreat to "prepared positions" on Bataan Peninsula, where a last-ditch stand was to be made. It was obvious that the enemy plan to march straight to Manila and there make an early claim to victory. In view of the well-planned intensive campaign by a highly disciplined and well-equipped enemy army, which included not only infantry, but also naval and air forces (carrier-based), Manila was declared an "Open City" in order to spare the civilian population. Such a decision meant that the city would not be defended and would be peacefully turned over to its conquerors, and hence there would be no need for bombing and

18

CM

a

shelling the city and no call for street fighting or serious military defense. Preparations were made for evacuation of high govern­ ment officials to either Bataan or Corregidor, and withdrawal of all military personnel to Bataan for the final stand. Included in the order for evacuation were the military personnel of the hospital. Since we had a full complement of patients undergo­ ing treatment, it was decided to convert the hospital into a civilian institution, removing all evidence of military identity, such as uniforms, insignia and equipment, and the physicians were divided into two groups, half to remain to care for the patients as civilian physicians, and the other half to leave im­ mediately for Bataan. The division of the personnel was designed as a voluntary choice, and I became one of those who "volunteered" to go to Bataan. Those of us who were to depart for Bataan were instructed to prepare a small bag containing a change of uniform and un­ derwear and toilet articles, a mosquito net and quinine tablets. The latter advice came from older and more knowledgeable doctors who remembered that Bataan was known as an "en­ demic malarial area" and that the mosquitoes there were as large as "model airplanes"! The two-week evacuation period was con­ sidered adequate for defense purposes, as our officials were certain that U.S. reinforcements were already being readied and possibly already on the way to the Philippines (the fabled "hundred-mile convoy") and we would soon be returning to a re-conquered Philippines. Our officials were not aware of the extent of the damage at Pearl Harbor, and the "arsenal of Democracy" could not possibly be converted into mass produc­ tion of military hardware in such a short time. Thus we made our hasty and light preparations, and as it was already Christmas time, we were allowed to visit with our families if we lived in Manila for a brief Christmas gathering. I spent a few precious hours of Christmas 1941 at home with my newly wedded spouse (we were still supposedly on our honeymoon) and with my parents and brother and sisters, who had all decided, at the outbreak of the war, to move to a large 19

house in Paco. None of us had the faintest idea at the time how long we would be separated, or of the numberless heartaches and false hopes that the future held in store for us. In the meantime I had only a vague idea of what and where Bataan was located, and even thought that it was way up north (Batanes island) and wondered how we were to get there. Our instructions were to report to the departure area, which was the Far Eastern University on Azcarraga St., where our motor con­ voy was being assembled. We brought along our own personal effects in a small canvas bag, and our personnel brought along what medical supplies we had, after dividing them equally with the demilitarized hospital we were leaving behind. The convoy was quickly formed and started off early on 26 December, form­ ing a long parade of cars and trucks, with instructions to follow in column, but not too closely so as to avoid losses and casual­ ties along the route from Japanese planes who could dive and strafe us from the air. Fortunately and uneventfully we arrived on the peninsula of Bataan in the early afternoon, and dis­ covered that it was still partly a "virgin forest" and partly a settled world with macadam roads, small towns along the way, and plenty of trees, cultivated fields of rice and corn and banana plantations, and a general air of peaceful activity. Even though our medical unit was classified as "non-com­ batant," our officers and leaders were realists and issued us handguns of the Smith and Wesson .45 caliber-type revolvers, with two semi-circular clips of three bullets each, and the stan­ dard British type of steel helmets then known as the"inverted soup-bowl type." We wore our standard Red Cross armbands and some of our cars flew Red Cross flags. All along the way in Bataan we noticed piles of 50-gallon drums of gasoline at regular intervals which we used freely to replenish our fuel supply. After going through fairly straight coastline roads, we climbed to what was known as the "little Baguio" area because of its hilly terrain and zigzag roads. Our designated campsite was at Km. 182, which had been hastily prepared as a hospital area. Some buildings were made of pre-fabricated wooden panels, but most were bamboo and nipa huts, including our 20

quarters. We inspected the almost finished fox-holes near our huts, noting that they were designed for only a few persons, and angled so that in the event of a bomb blast nearby, it would not wipe out all personnel in the shelter. Most were roofed over with tree branches covered with thick sod, in order to minimize shrapnel damage from nearby bomb hits. We settled into our routine activities, starting with an carly dawn breakfast, the only warm meal of the day. Cooking could only be done at dawn, because the Japanese bombers would start their runs at daylight and continue intermittently during the day. We could not light fires during the day as the smoke would pinpoint to the bomb crews the location of our camp. We still maintained our surgical teams, and we medical men just assisted the surgeons in their work. At the beginning our supplies, though meager, were sufficient for our needs. However, as the battles became more frequent and fierce, start­ ing as they did around the Pampanga-Bataan boundary, more casualties arrived, and our supplies rapidly dwindled.

21

Chapter 3

"BALITA"

AFTER having been several weeks on the Bataan Peninsula, we did not realize that we had retreated into a prepared position, isolated on two sides by the sea (between Manila and Subic Bay) and the China Sea at its jutting point, and only connected by land to the adjoining provinces of Pampanga and Zambales which formed the main battle line between us and the Japanese. We were, for all purposes, isolated from the rest of the country and were hungry for news of the progress of the war, the preparations by the U.S. for our release, and the fate of the rest of the country. Hence we were eager for any bit of news or "balita." This consisted of radio broadcasts from the Voice of Freedom in nearby Corregidor and the familiar voice of Norman Reyes. Then there were reports of casualties arriving from the front, mostly written by Carlos P. Romulo. There was also infor­ mation brought by couriers who, at great risk, paddled in bancas from Pampanga and Manila. There was an occasional report of the newly created propaganda bureau of the Japanese as represented by "Tokyo Rose." Finally, there were rumors expanded and exaggerated, and often towards the end, by pure and simple "wishful thinking." From these sources we dreamed of the "hundred-mile convoy" which was supposed to be on the way to our rescue. Actually, such a convoy, but much smaller, had been assembled with the immediate pur­ pose of coming to our aid, but had been diverted at the last minute to bolster up the defences of threatened Australia. We soon realized that we were losing the war and would even­ tually have to surrender. 22

Fortunately for us, the "banca couriers" became welcome if infrequent sources of news, and we learned for the first time that the Japanese forces had been maltreating civilians, and we feared most for our womenfolk when tales of rape and brutality came through. One short letter I received early during the siege was that my family were all safe and secure and unmolested at the house where they stayed and prudently kept a low profile and seldom ventured out except to buy food and other neces­ sities. They were safe and had not heard of any significant abuses among our friends and acquaintances. Another bit of good news was that the Voice of Freedom had broadcast an appeal to the people to furnish them a recording of the National Anthem to be played before and after their broadcasts. My family became vitally involved in this project and after scouting around among friends and our alma mater, the Ateneo, finally procured an English recording of the "Land of the Morning" sung by a well-known baritone, Jose Mossesgeld Santiago, and packing it carefully, sent it via the dependable "banca courier" and it eventually reached the "Voice." This courier service had become very important to us as it was a „ source of communication with families and friends in the occupied areas, and even though they could not bring food or medicines, many letters reached our hands and gave us a great deal of consolation and joy, and many more accurate and intimate details of what our families were going through. They reported that they jumped with joy when the first bars of the booming voice of Mossesgeld Santiago led off with the words of "Land of the Morning." They also knew that their letters had been safely carried by the messenger and reached our hands with the welcome and reassuring news from home. During the several "breaks" between the bombings, there were started "visiting conferences" usually of an informal nature between neighboring camps, and our frequent visitors were friends from the G-2 intelligence unit, where I found friends and former Ateneo classmates with whom we had much in common. Some of those I remember were Lepnie Guerrero, Philip Buencamino, Igmidio Cruz, Mariano Yenko and Felipe Enaje, and we 23

freely discussed the war situation, the mythical "convoy," the status of our families, and our present and future in Bataan, and eagerly exchanged information and personal impressions. A piece of news that spread like wildfire was the report and the reaction that became the war-cry "Remember Erlinda." I shall quote fully what journalist Max Soliven later wrote in his column "Bataan Remembered," which describes the situation better than any words I could compose:

Even their battle-cry was typical. Americans have always had their own self-righteous slogans. In the war for Texas, they cried "Remember the Alamo. " When an American battle-cruiser, the USS Maine-was sunk by a mine in Cuba’s Havana Harbor, provoking the Spanish-American War, the Yanks cried "Remember the Maine." After December 1941, their slogan was "Remember Pearl Harbor." Not so for Filipinos. Pearl Harbor to them was just an abstraction, a place they had never seen and which was too far away. The story spread that a patrol had come across the half­ buried body of ayoung and pretty Filipino girl who had been brutally raped by Japanese soldiers and then killed. An embroidered handkerchief beside her body bore the name "Erlinda" All along the line, the tale spread like lightning and the Filipinos were soon going into combat shouting "Remember Erlinda!" Even in their abandonment by Mother America and the rest of the world (they remained) the last of the romantics. As the siege of Bataan continued and worsened, all supplies quickly dwindled and food, medicines and war materials like ammunition ran out. Fortunately, the many mountain streams provided adequate water, but the prevalence of tropical diseases like malaria, dengue fever, beri-beri, etc. threatened this supply, despite the limited availability of 30-gallon "Lister bags" and Halasone tablets to chlorinate water. The word balita in Tagalog means "news." It had become a regular feature of our continued stay in Bataan and helped pass 24

the time between raids and the arrival of casualties and depar­ ture of patrols, and eventually took the form of "rumors" because news items when passed from person to person would inevitably become either exaggerated or distorted so that even this solace of the isolated troops in Bataan became undepen­ dable and a source of increasing despair. At the hospital we would occasionally come across a peculiar type of wound from nearby coast defenses, men who came as "walking wounded" with single or multiple gunshot wounds in the feet. It did not take much imagination to realize that such injuries could have been self-inflicted by the unseasoned and young soldiers who were desperate and fearful of the unknown but resolute enemy, reputed to be cruel and very efficient in hand- to-hand combat. To the raw recruits such a confrontation was as much to be feared as avoided, and a few resorted to this device so that they could be evacuated to the rear. Fortunately, these cases were few and far between, but we realized that a war could breed both heroes and cowards. Eventually, visitors and the wounded from the front brought us the warning that the Japanese had begun to penetrate our lines, and that out-going patrols should keep a wary eye and ear open for them, who were often disguised as civilians or our own soldiers. The principal method of recognition was to challenge a stranger with the "password." Knowing that the Japanese had difficulty in pronouncing the letter "L," our G-2 devised passwords containing several "Ls" such as "Honolulu" and "Filipino" which they pronounced as "Hiripino." We were also warned that Japanese patrols would observe our counterparts, so that officers leading such parties should not wear their insig­ nia of rank either on lapels or overseas caps, because those would become primary targets. At times there was a lull in the bombings, and we would relax beside the small stream that flowed by the camp, and were even able to take a bath and do some light laundering. Sometimes the casualties who were brought to our camp for treatment would bring with them some war souvenirs captured from the Japanese, such as the long .25 caliber rifle, bayonets, helmets, 25

I

canteens (round and flat, contrasting with our rectangular flat "bottles" which actually held more water). They would give some of these souvenirs to the medical personnel. I was given a rifle, which I hid in the roof of our shelter. The most prized souvenirs, of course, were the "samurai" swords worn by Japanese officers. Some of these were given to the senior officers. Later, however, they had to get rid of them, as posses­ sion would mean that a Japanese officer had been killed, and the possessor beheaded with a stroke of the same or similar sword. Always, however, we were mindful of our mission, which was "to conserve manpower," and we did our utmost to enable those lightly injured to return as soon as possible to the front, while those more seriously wounded would be evacuated to the base hospitals.

26

Chapter 4

MEDICAL RESOURCES

THE problems faced by the medical services in Bataan were mul­ tiple and frustrating and they tested the ingenuity, skill and im­ provisation of all personnel. I was reminded of Gen. MacArthur’s words of advice when we graduated from the Medical Field Service School:

An officer of the Medical Corps must be prepared to perform all his tasks with limited means. He must be ingenious, resourceful and resolute. He must accustom himself to a limited number of standard drugs and a dearth of medical equipment. One of the interesting "experiments" conducted by Dr. Augusto W. de los Reyes, Chief of our surgical service, was a study of the technique evolved by army surgeon Dr. Truta et al during the Spanish Civil War, which consisted of treating war wounds which included fractures, by the use of "protracted plaster-casting of the wound area." Its effectiveness was acciden­ tally discovered during the hectic period of wartime surgery when inadvertentiy plastercast were left on much longer than usual due to the exigencies of time and overwork. When they removed the casts, these were found to be foul smelling and some had even developed maggots. But to their surprise, the uncovered wounds were healing well, the bones well knitted together and the wounds healing with clean, healthy tissue growth. With this finding, they decided to put into operation a deliberate plan to apply long-term plaster casts to such war wounds, and not open them for weeks, as long as there had been

27

adequate provisions to prevent secondary infections and gangrene. They discovered that this constituted a new and economical form of therapy, and continued it till the end of the war, and eventually reported their findings in medical journals. It was one such article that Dr. de los Reyes had come across and decided to implement in Bataan because of our limited facilities. He duly reported his results in a diary, with the plan that after the war he would also make his own report to the medical world. It was that same diary that Dr. de los Reyes carried with him during the harrowing days and nights of the Death March and the POW camp in Capas. To date, I do not recall whether such a report ever made the scientific journals. Another example of medical "improvisation" was the inci­ dent when we were running out of quinine tablets for both treatment and prophylaxis of malaria. In the rush and confusion of the evacuation of Manila, the U.S. Quartermaster depot in the port area in Manila was cleaned out of all easily portable supplies and medicines, and some of the latter turned out to be bottles of "quinidine sulphate" which the "collecting" troops hurriedly gathered up, seeing a label that looked like "quinine" and therefore useful in the management of malaria. When some of the more experienced doctors saw the label "quinidine," they claimed that it was not intended to cure malaria but was a drug used to control irregularities of heart action and rhythm. Some­ one urged that since we were running out of the genuine article, why not try quinidine which must have a similar action as quinine on malaria. With nothing to lose (anyway, our patients were dying for want of adequate medicine), we tried it and to our surprise, it worked, though not as effectively as quinine. Actually, we discovered some years later, that "quinidine" is also derived from the cinchona bark, the same source as "quinine" and is considered as an "isomer of quinine" (isomer is defined as "one or two or more compounds identical in com­ position, but having different structural arrangements and different properties"). Many years later, in a conference on "Cardiac Arrhythmias," an eminent cardiologist Dr. Leo Shamroth remarked that 28

quinine had also been found useful in controlling heart irregularities. Upon hearing this, I remarked to Dr. Shamroth that we had found the reverse to be true and that quinidine had been successfully used against malaria, and he was agreeably surprised, and asked my permission to use this observation in future conferences on cardiac arrhythmias. Aside from occasional improvisations and "concoctions" which the critical times required, we still had limited resources in both quality and quantity, which quickly dwindled. We had no "miracle drugs" such as antibiotics or chemo-therapeutic agents, and the only "specific drugs" on hand were quinine (rapidly running out) for malaria, aspirin and its companion salicylates (for fever, headache and arthritis) and certain seda­ tives and hypnotics. Most medical cases were treated "symptomatically," i.e., directed at whatever symptoms were presented, with general supportive measures. For the surgeons, much depended upon their skill and ingenuity in handling war casualties, and on whatever were available in the form of anesthetics and disinfectants. Ether and chloroform inhalation was the standard anesthetic, together with injections of mor­ phine and demerol. There was a wide variety, but again in limited amounts, of disinfectants. These were divided as follows: Mercurials: —Mercurochrome (morbromine). First introduced in the 1930s as painless iodine in its aqueous form, and also in its alcohol-acetone dilution, known as "surgical Mercurochrome" because of its greater penetrating power. —Merthiolate, Mercresin, Metaphen and other mercurial compounds. —Oxygen-releasing agents like Potassium Permanganate in 1:5000/10,000 solutions, or Hydrogen Peroxide, both mildly antiseptic and excellent cleaning or perfusing agents. —Phenol (lysol) and its derivatives, cresol, creosote, etc. Phenol had long been recognized as a "standard" agent 29

and many antiseptics were rated as to their "phenol" coefficient. —Dyes: Azo, Acridine, Rosaniline, etc. —Ordinary soap and detergents, which were both cleansing and mildly antiseptic. —Chlorine releasing: Chlorazene or Dichloramine-T, the very widely used "Dakin’s Solution" or sodium hypochlorite for disinfection and infusion-drip treat­ ment of wounds. Halazone tablets, which released chlorine and used for water purification (one tablet for every canteen of water). —Alcohol (as a general cleansing antiseptic). —Furanes: Furacin as topical agent. —Iodine and its derivatives: The ever popular tincture of iodine for pre-operative disinfection. In extreme cases it was also used as a water purifier, several drops to a canteen of water, even though its strong and unpleasant iodine flavor was better than noth­ ing (in the absence of halazone) when questionable water sources existed. —lodorm: The strong, pungent-smelling yellow crys­ tals which are powerful disinfectants.

All these and other privately procured medicines were used until they were exhausted. In a few rare cases even herbal remedies were resorted to by the more resourceful.

30

Chapter 5

SUDDEN DEATH

WHEN we first arrived in Bataan and for several weeks there­ after, a feeling of security and serenity descended upon us because of the rustic atmosphere of the whole area. There was very little of a military or belligerent scene among the winding roads, tilled fields and heavy forest growth, and even very little of the sounds of war. So we were tempted to relax and were lulled to rest and forget the war raging around the country as the Japanese captured towns and provinces without much resis­ tance. But as our retreating troops began to fill the hills and valleys of Bataan, bringing with them sounds and sights of war, our initial sense of security was quickly dispelled, and the Japanese began to strafe and bomb the whole peninsula systematically. We had no air defense, no "ack-ack," nor planes (our handful of P-40s had long been destroyed either on the ground or in the air) and we were helpless to counter the enemy’s thrusts from the air, and had to rely more and more on our dugouts and shelters and any camouflage we could devise. We soon realized that we were at the mercy of an enemy who bombed and strafed at will and took his time about it, from the early morning sorties through unscheduled runs during the daylight hours. At least we were spared any night-time attacks. We discovered to our dismay that our forest cover was being blown away rapidly and the "Geneva Cross" marking the hospi­ tal was no protection but might even serve as target for the bombers! This daily routine was increasingly unnerving and we could regularly hear the distant deep drone of planes as they came over the horizon, and were often visible as pencil-thin groups 31

of "Betty bombers" with their lethal "eggs." Soon, too soon, we would then hear the demoralizing swiftly descending bombs with their characteristic "whistling" signals, and our hearts would skip several beats as we awaited the thunderous "va-room" as they smashed into their targets. We then waited with visible and audible relief for the concussion beating our cardrums seconds later. It was during those seconds of terror that we could hear within the confines of our shelters our companions’ whispered or clearly audible intoning of the "Our Father" or "Hail, Mary," or even the telling of the rosary beads if time permitted, or the brief but fervent cries of "Spare us, O Lord," or "Lord, have mercy!" In retrospect, we confirm the truth of the oft-repeated saying that "there are no atheists in the foxholes." On one occasion a medical inspection team visited our hospital, composed of the chiefs of our combined services —Col. Victoriano Luna of the Philippine Army and Col. Vanderboget of the U.S. Army base hospital near our area. They and their staffs were going through our camp, greeting the patients and inquiring about our needs, when there was the usual air­ raid alarm, followed by the whistling bombs. Those who could or were easily alarmed ran to their shelters, but the inspecting team continued their rounds. Suddenly, the whistling became very loud and clear, and within seconds there were thunderous crashes throughout the area. The hospital had received several direct hits, and after the initial silence, we crept out of our dugouts and were faced with a scene of horrible death and destruction. Many of the buildings and tents were in bloody shambles, parts of bodies were flung about, the recognizable stench of cordite and dust, and a few cries of pain or for help. Many had died instantly and among them were our two chiefs of service, Cols. Luna and Vanderboget. Large shrapnel frag­ ments had cleft their skulls. We did our best for the many wounded and arranged for the burial of the dead,but it would take years or a lifetime to erase the picture of death that we had witnessed. Those of us who were fortunate enough to survive realized

32

what a near thing it had been, and that our time might come sooner than we expected, and we had been given another chance. So we resolutely went about our routine duties, deter­ mined to be prepared for whatever the future might hold for us. We realized that war and its ever-present dangers was the great "leveler" and it made us one in resolve and in courage, with faith and hope always within our breast—dependent upon an all-knowing and merciful God.

33

Chapter 6

DWINDLING RESOURCES AND VANISHING HOPES

AS we realized the ever-present hazards of our position, the imminence and even presence of destruction and death, we tried to settle down to our daily routines, with ears cocked to the comings and goings of the dreaded bombers, conscious of the inescapability of our situation. We even clung to the ever­ shrinking possibility of relief and even the fast fading myth of the miles-long convoy supposedly dispatched to our rescue. So we bowed our heads and were resigned to whatever fate lay in store for us. The Japanese, meanwhile, were stepping up their offensive on land (pushing on and into our defenses in Bataan), in the air (from newly occupied airbases in Luzon), and on the sea with attempted landings on our well-defended beaches. These were doomed to failure and the enemy limited them­ selves to sporadic drops of individuals or patrols disguised as fishermen who attempted to infiltrate our lines and gain knowledge of the extent and effectiveness of our defenses. We were warned against the possibility of some breakthroughs, and were alerted as to how to recognize or suspect enemy personnel. Because of the apparent "abandonment" of the beleaguered defenders, they now considered themselves "orphans" and authored a simple ditty: We’re the battling bastards of Bataan; No mama, no papa, no Uncle Sam, No aunts, no uncles, no nephews, no nieces;

34

No rifles, no planes, or artillery pieces, And nobody gives a damn!

Later, as the stubborn defense slowly crumbled in the face of dwindling supplies and physical and mental fatigue, morale began to suffer, especially when the news broke that General MacArthur had been ordered to transfer to Australia to prepare it for its defense and development as a staging area for the "island-hopping" return for the relief and recapture of the Philippines and other conquered nations. It was mid-March (the "Ides of March"?) when MacArthur, together with his family, with President Quezon, and their staffs, took a PT boat to Mindanao and there were picked up by plane and flown to Australia. This left a void and a note of sadness and almost despair in the hearts of the stalwart defenders, but they knew that the fight must go on and complete the strategy of delay and disruption of the Japanese timetable in their march through Southeast Asia. The defenders continued their gallant fight and almost literally "refused to die," as observers commented, until their work of attrition was accomplished. As the days grew into weeks and the weeks into months, it became apparent that our evacuation to Bataan was becoming a permanent thing and we could envision no pleasant ending despite American propaganda, led by President Roosevelt’s oft-repeated promises of relief and assurances to us. "Stand firm, people of the Philippines, your day is coming," he said. Our inexorably dwindling food, medical supplies and ammunition with no hope of replenishment; the stepping up of Japanese air attacks and the discouraging news brought from the front lines by retreating soldiers—all these made the increas­ ing number of casualties an unwelcome change from routine activities in the hospital area. Even though we were getting used to the schedules of early rising, brief, but still warm breakfast and almost hurried rounds of visits to patients and dressing of wounds, followed by the tension-filled awaiting of the daily and later almost hourly visits of enemy planes, life was anything but monotonous. We tried to 35

while away the time by re-hashing the latest "balita," and the inevitable thoughts of how our families and fellow countrymen were managing with the increasing number and activities of invading enemy troops. Some of our fellow doctors began experimenting with their revolvers, practising shooting at nearby trees to get the feel of firing the gun, because of the possibility that we eventually might have to use them in self-defense. However, I never yielded to the temptation and never used the revolver and the six bullets that we had been issued at the start of the war We did no visiting of other camps for two reasons: we had no transport except footpower, and it was against regulation, despite the fact that we were often left with nothing to do except await enemy activity as it grew closer and more intense. At this point we pause to reflect on our morale at the time, in our confined, though relatively safe positions, the inevitability of our defeat and the nature and extent of our individual fate. Whether the latter would become a long struggle with depriva­ tion and imprisonment, ending with death by bullet, sword or wasting disease or an improbable freedom and reunion with our families, these did not really occupy our waking thoughts or fears. We were still concerned with the present and what to expect from our enemies once they broke through our defenses and had a taste of victory, hard won and long striven for because of our strategy of attrition and delay of their program of conquest. As for myself, one of the most harrowing, unnerving and demoralizing aspects of life in Bataan was the effect of the daily indiscriminate enemy bombings. From early morning when we could barely discern the pencil-like silhouette of bomber groups approaching Bataan, followed by the far-away droning of their engines, we would feel the increased tempo of our heartbeats and we would go slowly nearer our foxholes or dugouts, reach for our steel helmets, and lie quietly listening for the next noise. If the targets were far away, we would soon hear the crunching blasts of the bombs as they hit and burst, and heaving a sigh of relief, we would breathe a short prayer for our brethren who

36

were the targets of the day. But if the sight of the planes became larger and the droning of engines more deep and clear, then we could hear the whistling of the bombs as they came whooshing down, and the clearer and louder the whistling, the more tight­ ly we would hold on to neighbors and to any other available sup­ port, and begin praying: either an act of contrition, or for those of us who carried rosaries, start telling the beads. We knew that the louder the whistling, the greater our danger of suffering severe blasts or (blissfully unknowing) direct hits. It was at this point that morale was at its lowest, hope almost gone, and despair beginning. I observed that a few fellow officers would break down and grovel in almost blubber­ ing collapse until the whistling abruptly ceased and the loud, shattering "Va-roooom!" rent the air, followed by the concussion in our ears, indicating that it was a near miss. Men—real "he-men" or the ordinarily proud "macho" type—would unashamedly sit or drop on their knees and mutter what prayers they had learned and put all their hope and trust in the Almighty, His Blessed Mother or whatever saints they had ever heard of, because, as has been truly said, "There are no atheists in the foxholes or agnostics in the ICU." War with all its unpredictable dangers is a great leveler. All barriers are swept away, social standards and status symbols dissolved, the trappings of power and influence removed, and man is revealed naked and helpless, expendable as are all other instruments of war.

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Chapter 7

OTHER DOCTORS

MOST of what has gone before have been my own personal observations and experiences in Bataan. Let us now record how some of the other medical officers fared in varying fields of activity at or near the front. Dr. Martellno. The following are some experiences of my classmate, Col. Apolonio Martelino, who was already in the Philippine Constabulary at the outbreak of the war as a fullfledged medical officer, making it his career as a doctor. He went through not only infantry training, but also the mandatory Medi­ cal Field Service School for all medical personnel, and in Bataan was assigned as CO (commanding officer) of a "Collecting Company" or "Station." In the hierarchy of the Medical Service, the lowest man on the totem pole (but the farthest forward with the fighting men) is the "medic" or enlisted man trained in such things as First Aid, litter-bearing and, in the last war, even the giving of plasma and administering of morphine syrettes or pain-killing injections to the severely wounded. He works closely with the most forward-located doctor who is designated as Battalion Surgeon and whose teams shuttle back and forth just behind the front lines tending to the casualties. The next rearward element, which is more or less stationary, is the "Clearing Company" where more adequate management is accomplished, minor wounds treated, and the walking wounded are separated from the litter cases. Here, if adequate treatment is achieved in the minor cases, they may be immediately, or soon after, returned to light or active duty, while the others are re- checked, tourniquets loosened and re-applied, other necessary medication administered, and are

38

moved rearward as quickly as possible. Col. Martelino’s unit, the "Collecting Company or Station," was tasked with a further classification and treatment. Their main task was to move the more seriously wounded farther to the rear, and their principal equipment were the litters and of course transport like ambulances (of which they had none), but were occasionally able to acquire or utilize any available mode of transport, but had to depend mainly on litter-bearers, and earlier in the battle, animal-drawn sleds. As to medicines and equipment, they were as poorly supplied as other Bataan units, sparingly utilizing supplies of quinine or atabrin for malaria, sulfathiazol for dysentery and any available antiseptics and dressings for wounds. He did not encounter any Japanese (just like the rest of us rear-located elements) until after the surrender when he was an actual witness to the shooting of a medical officer for attempting to escape, and the bayoneting of another who, during the Death March, suffered a severe malarial chill and became unmanageable. And, as in all our experiences, he survived the Death March, the beatings by the Japanese, the poor rations (rice and salt) in those last days. Col. Martelino served out his stint with his Collecting Com­ pany, which was a part of the 21st Battalion of the 71st Division under American Gen. Clyde A. Selleck. Dr. Hortelano. Another vignette from a well-trained medi­ cal officer presents a pleasantly different picture from the common run of Bataan medical services, in which inadequate facilities and supplies rapidly shrank to nothingness. Dr. Genaro Hortelano, afterwards a practicing dentist, was in his final few months of study at the University of the Philippines Dental Col­ lege when the war started. He had already finished basic and advanced military medical training as part of his mandatory military training schedule, so that when he was called to active duty, it was not as a part of the medical service but as an infantry non-commissioned officer. He had not yet graduated from his dentistry course, nor had he passed the qualifying Board Examinations. In recognition of his professional training and ROTC 39

advanced courses in First Aid and medical services, he was usual­ ly assigned with the "medics," even though basically he was still classified as an "infantryman" and wore a sergeant’s stripes while carrying a Springfield rifle with bayonet, steel helmet and com­ bat shoes, and later wore a double bandolier of bullets across his chest, and fought primarily as a soldier, but always lending his medical skills whenever they were needed. His actual assign­ ments on Bataan was with the 2nd Battalion Aid Station, under Lt. Cartagena, 2nd Machine Gun Battalion under Capt. Vinluan, 2nd Regimental Aid Station under Lt. Salcedo, 2nd Infantry Regi­ ment under Col. Alba, 2nd Regular Division under the overall command of Gen. Guillermo Francisco. Hortelano not only fought as an individual infantryman, but also with machinegunners and the new French 75’s which were their light artillery pieces. What distinguished their unit from among similar ones in Bataan was the fact that they must have had an unusually large and capable officer group who had a natural talent for foraging and accumulating supplies and ammunition, which kept their unit fighting and damaging the enemy until almost the day of surrender, despite the necessary and "strategic" withdrawals and retreats into the better protected recesses of the Bataan Peninsula. From the start of their campaign their leaders realized that the war supplies and ammunition initially issued to them would last only a limited time, so that they would be on their own only too soon, so almost from the beginning they sought out any available sources of food and military hardware. On their way they commandeered as many vehicles, mostly provincial and the bright orange, reddish but muddied Meralco city buses as needed to ferry their equipment and supplies, and keep them adequately provisioned with fuel. Since the whole country knew that war was going on, most public and even private warehouses and bodegas of rice, com, canned goods, medical supplies and specially ammunition were open to them and they wisely stockpiled as much as they could carry. On their "strategic" retreat to Bataan, they passed a town

40

in Pampanga where the army had established a large quarter­ master depot of every kind of military supplies and equipment. They stopped there long enough to increase their inventory of necessities. As a result, their Division remained one of the best supplied in all Bataan, and with careful husbanding and "making every bullet count” and every grain of rice support each fighting man, they were one of the rare units that had almost adequate supplies (rice, canned goods, mostly sardines) and ammunition until the very day of surrender. As an integral part of their useful "loot" they had discovered in the Home Economics building of a large public high school in Pampanga large supplies of kitchen utensils, blankets, pillows and even mosquito nets, all of which proved valuable once in Bataan. They soon became used to army routine in Bataan and were able to conduct normal medical services, like the early morning "sick calls," supervision of latrine construction, potable water treated with halazone tablets and when these ran short, tincture of iodine was used in the dilution of 10 drops for every canteen of water. For the wounded they still had available tetanus anti­ toxin injections, morphine soluble tablets for injection and limited sulfathiazole tablets. At times when supplies became critical, they were even able to send their trucks to a QM depot near Little Baguio, where additional supplies of food (rice, canned goods and even sugar), medicines, and ammunition were still available. Even clothing (blue denims) and shoes were also procured. Engineering Work. Another brief story, by way of digres­ sion from the medical side of this report, is that of Col. Ciriaco Mirasol, who was a professional engineer, and who became a part of the 31st Infantry Division, Philippine Scouts (then con­ sidered a unit of the Army of the United States, AUS) under the command of General Clifford Bluemel. Capt. Mirasol was CO of the Engineering Battalion of the Third Military Area, and gave direct logistical support to the area’s front lines. Shortly after hostilities began, the authorities realized the power and extent of the Japanese invasion and its initial success

41

in neutralizing the American Navy in the Pacific. This was evidenced by the large-scale and widespread simultaneous attacks on all forces in Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaya, Philip­ pines, Marianas and Indonesia. Japan’s ambitious dream of a hegemony labeled the "Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere" became more and more clear. An integral part of the "Orange III" defense plan was the preparation of the entire Bataan Peninsula, in close cooperation with the Corregidor defenses. Engineering units were ordered to Bataan to prepare these facilities. One of the earliest units to arrive in Bataan was Col. Mirasol’s Engineering Battalion, whose task was to open and maintain all coastal roads and bridges and overland roads connecting the town along both coasts, locating and preparing camp sites for all expected units which would eventually occupy them, providing living and sanitary facilities, water supplies and sources. These early soldiers arrived in Bataan with a minimum of arms, but a maximum of building and engineering equipment. Existing bridges on all principal routes were widened and strengthened, whereas other secondary routes were destroyed and made impassable for the enemy. Medical units did not accompany them except to provide emergency First Aid services, although they realized that malaria, dysentery and other tropical diseases could become a problem. Forest cover was left intact, and it was one of the wisest moves as Bataan had heavy virgin forests, with few clearings where local people had planted rice and other crops, fruit trees and continued other farm activities. Bataan was a land of many valleys and small mountains, with flowing rivers everywhere, so that good water was seldom a problem. One of the principal tasks of the Engineers was to establish protected and well-camouflaged areas for supply depots, and one of the largest and most complete was that at Mariveles, near the outer tip of the peninsula. However, this area was not well protected from the air, which was an early discovery of the enemy forces, who, with their superiority in the air, quickly

42

bombed and strafed it and reduced it to rubble. With the increasing frequency and numbers of the arrival of our retreating forces on Bataan, this important work of the Engineers was never finished nor adequate, but again, the whole set-up reflected the hurried and never permanent nature of War Plan Orange III. Dr. Yuvienco. Dr. Merito Yuvienco was a Battalion Surgeon, whose post was "up front" during most of the battle. He had studied medicine at the University of the Philippines,graduating in 1940,and continued post-graduate work as a resident at the Philippine General Hospital. On one occasion early in 1941, he was talking with his godfather, Col. Emmanuel Baja, and the latter sensing the march of events in the Far East by mid-year, persuaded young Meto to apply to the Medical Service, Philip­ pine Army. He was accepted and almost immediately ordered to undergo training at the Medical Field Service School at Fort William McKinley. He had previously undergone cadet cadre training while still in medical school, so that this became a con­ tinuing education in military affairs, but oriented to his new specialty, the Medical Service. He had scarcely finished his military-medical training when the war broke out and he was assigned with an Engineering bat­ talion of Gen. Clyde A. Selleck’s 71st (U.S.) Division, whose first assignment was on the beaches of Sison, Pangasinan. At the beginning our forces made a strong and determined defense of the beaches, but the Japanese would not be denied. They brought in additional forces through their Lingayen beachhead, and gradually forced our troops southward, through Tarlac and Pampanga. Dr. Yuvienco noted that there were a number of Americans with them in the 71st Division, some of whom were killed in some of the action ambushes that they suffered. Of course there was a difference in the equipment of the Americans and the Filipinos, the former with modem rifles (Garand M-l), Colt automatic, steel helmets and at first adequate supply of ammunition, food and medical supplies. The Filipinos had only their khaki shorts and shirts, rubber shoes and "guinit" helmets made of coconut fiber, and dwindling food consisting mostly of 43

canned goods like salmon and sardines, rice and fruits along the route, with occasional meat from dead carabaos and other farm animals. As for medicines, these were even more limited, although, at the start, they were supplied with complete "medicine chests" which contained a wide variety of instru­ ments, medicines, bandages and "Thomas splints" (for leg frac­ tures and injuries), but inadequate for tropical diseases, such as malaria and dysentery, which were later encountered in and near Bataan. Since their gallant but hopeless beach defense had failed, their movements became a continuous "running" maneuver. There was no possibility of even overnight "bivouac" stops, and they had to sleep on the ground, and often had to post perimeter guards to minimize surprise attacks or ambush by the persistently advancing Japanese. As they neared their assigned post in Bataan, their supplies became critical, even though some could be replenished from QM depots on the peninsula. So it was inevitable that the men began to succumb to malaria (including Dr. Yuvienco himself and other officers), and they had to hoard and use their quinine tablets sparingly. But they set up their camp, with the medical group supervising the construction and maintenance of latrines, water supplies (including halazone tablets to chlorinate their drinking water), kitchens and sleeping quarters, foxholes and dugouts. Their final retreat sector was known as "Trail 47" near Mt. Natib, which was near the town of Samal. Here they settled down for aprotracted defense (so they thought) and even found emplacements for their light artillery which consisted of several batteries of French 75’s. At this encampment they were relatively secure, and they sustained fewer casualties than during the active beach fighting and the retreat march. They suffered no direct bombing, and their problems were more medical rather than surgical. Their surgical work consisted mostly of the necessary rendering of first aid, control of bleeding, debridement of destructive wounds, setting of fractures, and even emergency 44

amputations. As a budding surgeon and future orthopedic prac­ titioner, Dr. Yuvienco had already heard of the experience of some Spanish surgeons during their civil war, under the leader­ ship of a Dr. Trueta, who discovered the benefits of the "plaster casting" not only of fractures, but also of major wounds, which had been of promising importance in the management of war wounds. However, this usually required a semi-permanent location, such as an evacuation or base hospital, with trained personnel such as doctors and nurses. Hence, even though he might have considered this method, Dr. Yuvienco did not have any chance of practicing it because of the limited and "peripatetic" nature of his mission. He admits that he was lucky in his experiences, because he was never wounded except for some scratches from barbed wire entanglements and a brief bout with malaria. They were at their camp at "Trail 47" when the surrender of Bataan came and the "Death March" began. One of Dr. Yuvienco’s experiences was as "tobang" to Japanese officers. This practice was employed by a number of Japanese officers who wanted an intelligent, useful "assistant" in the course of their occupation duties. To many this type of work might seem like forcing a well-educated man to do household, secretarial or even menial work around their quarters or offices, with of course no remuneration or reward, except for better quarters and food (even left-overs) than a prisoner of war could expect. And since most Japanese officers were gentlemen, they did not humiliate or abuse the officers they took in as helpers. Such jobs, when available, were much sought after by our POWs. Of course there were the inevitable exceptions, with abuse on both sides, but the practice was, in general, acceptable. Dr. Yuvienco’s chance came shortly after our surrender when, during the course of the Death March near Pampanga, a Japanese officer learned that he was a doctor, and it happened that one of his fellow officers was at the time having shaking chills from malaria, and Dr. Yuvienco was called in. Fortunately, he still had a few quinine tablets, which he administered to the officer, who quickly recovered. From then on, Dr. Yuvienco was

45

a marked man and soon received the offer to work for the Japanese in his capacity as a doctor. So be became a "tobang" and enjoyed a much more comfortable existence than his fellow POWs. He accompanied the Japanese officers in their march to and beyond Manila, riding in buses (Halili) or staff cars, and being billeted in houses near the Japanese headquarters, and enjoy­ ing comparatively good meals. He was not overworked, and his duties always centered on medical or related work. He occasionally ran across other POWs or "tobangs" and was informed by some of them of the abuses of the "nasty" Japs, but he personally did not observe or experience any maltreatment. He had been picked by his "bosses" shortly before arriving in Pampanga, and travelled with them to Manila; he did not stay there, however, but proceeded to military camps in Tayabas, in Paracale in Camarines Norte, and on to different points in the Bicol region, where he was released in July when most of the POW releases were effected. Asked how he got along with his bosses, Dr. Yuvienco said that they managed to communicate through sign language and the help of an occasional interpreter. He spoke no Japanese and his bosses no English, and it was rare to find any Filipino who spoke Nippongo or Japanese officers who spoke English. However, they got along satisfactorily, so that Dr. Yuvienco and his fellow "tobangs" were among the fortunate few POWs who did not die or suffer in the notorious Death March and prison camps. Dr. Vicenclo. Another example of similar experiences in the field and in Bataan is the story of Dr. Antonio Vicencio, an EENT specialist who later practiced in Cebu. He was my classmate in the 12th Class of the Medical Field Service School at Camp Murphy, and right after our graduation he was assigned as Battalion Surgeon with the 2nd Battalion, 4th Infantry Regiment of the 2nd Regular Division, then under the command of Gen. Rafael Jalandoni. Like many other units, they were assigned to guard the long 46

and open beach at Lingayen (favorite landing areas of both the Japanese and the returning U.S. forces) and subsequently reas­ signed or retreated to Tayug, also in Pangasinan, then Munoz in Nueva Ecija, then quickly through Manila and finally to Bataan. At the beginning, with fighting relatively light, they managed with their medical supplies in the standard "medical chest" and other supplies obtained from various depots, especially the ex­ tensive stores in the Port Area in Manila. Dr. Vicencio’s job as Battalion Surgeon found him always near the front lines, which were always fluid and mobile, doing mostly first aid in controlling bleeding, preventing infection and further injury, and evacuating the injured to Clearing and Collecting companies for more definite treatment. Though some medical officers died or suffered injuries, Dr. Vicencio was never wounded but, like most of the others, came down with malaria in Bataan. Moving to a number of positions in Bataan, he ended up in the Cabcaben-Mariveles area near the tip of the peninsula. In Cabcaben he found a relatively large base hospital run by the Philippine Army under an old friend, Col. Gonzales- Roxas. Here he continued with limited medical work, treating the increasing number of wounded and those ill with malaria, dysentery and beri-beri, and practicing military environ­ mental sanitation. He also recalls using ten drops of tincture of iodine to a canteen for disinfecting water. Dr. Vicencio’s experiences on Bataan paralleled most of our own, which of necessity were limited by our rapidly diminishing supplies. Perhaps because his units were mostly on the move, they were able to subsist on better rations and transport. Because of the commandeered buses which most of the army units were able to acquire during the retreat to Bataan, their transport was fairly efficient, especially in the procurement of basic supplies and food and the evacuation of the wounded. Their surprise (and also mine) was the discovery of the large base hospital manned by Filipino medical personnel in the vicinity of Mariveles, which, though severely bombed by the Japanese, was still able to function until the surrender. Dr. Vicencio participated in the Death March after sur47

render, but remembers little of what he went through. But he did witness several killings of both civilians and military person­ nel either by being bashed on the head with rifle butts or by shooting because of major or fancied infractions of regulations laid down by the victors. He recalls wnth certain pleasure that he had been able to hide a can of Kraft cheese from the sentries, and was able to feast on it sparingly during the later days of "ball of rice with a pinch of salt" which had been our lot during the Death March. Arriving in Pampanga he was assigned to the kitchen detail, and so escaped the continued trip by cattle car to Capas, but was sent to O’Donnell by truck later to join the others. Dr. Potenciano. A slightly different story comes from Dr. Honorio Potenciano, who engaged in general practice after the war. His case is similar to that of the dentist, Dr. Genaro Hortelano, who had been about to graduate from the Univer­ sity of the Philippines when the war broke out. Dr. Potenciano was already an intern, the last year of hi,s medical course, and so he was allowed to take the Medical Field Service School train­ ing at Fort McKinley in August-September 1941. While still a sergeant, he was assigned to the 41st Medical Battalion of the 41st regular division under General Vicente Lim, and began the war in the defense of Batangas, and was part of the Collecting Company which was located just behind the front lines. His equipment was similar to that issued to all medical units at the time, consisting mostly of the "medical chest" which contained a compact assortment of medicines, including quinine, sulfathiazole, morphine injectable tablets and accepted analgesics, antiseptics, bandages, minor surgical instruments and some larger pieces like the standard Thomas splints for leg injuries. His unit was inducted into the USAFFE late in 1941 by General Jonathan Wainwright, and they conducted a systematic slow "attrition-retreat" all the way to Bataan. Like most of his fellow soldiers and officers, he came down with malaria in Bataan, but was never wounded or otherwise injured. He recalls three outstanding incidents. The first and most

48

harrowing was that his unit in Bataan was bombed by Japan planes and all the officers of his company were killed, so be came acting CO of his company. The other incident happe: to him during the Death March. He remembers with c siderable bitterness and anguish the habit of the Japan sentries of ordering all POWs, during breaks of sometimes he in duration, to squat on the ground, thus exposing them to blistering sun and dust, which greatly weakened the thir hungry and sick prisoners. During the march or rest periods, sentries would often indiscriminately hit with bamboo poles heads and shoulders of the men while shouting "Kura! Kurz The third unforgettable event was that upon their arrivs Orani, their group was met by civilians, mostly women, who g them food and water. This was in contrast to the more comn custom of the sentries of driving away such people who triec do their bit for the suffering prisoners. Dr. Potenciano rec that he was so overwhelmed by the kindness that he broke de and cried like a baby.

49

Chapter 8

NURSES IN BATAAN AND CORREGIDOR

I HAVE tried on several occasions to secure an authenticated account of the experiences of nurses, both American and Filipino, from both medical and nursing personnel whom I know, but drew a blank until recently when some of my resources responded. 1 wanted to be assured of their fate for fear that they might have been maltreated or harmed in one form or another by the conquering Japanese forces who, flushed with victory, but angered and smarting from the unexpected mauling they had received from our defense forces, vented their hate and frustration on us upon our surrender or during the Death March or in the concentration camps. Fortunately, while leafing through the stories recounted in Col. Fidel Ongpauco’s They Refused to Die, I came across a brief account of the night of the surrender of Bataan. It was about a group of American soldiers and nurses (American and Filipino) who had been able to board the last overcrowded ferry to cross the shark-infested strait between Bataan and Corregidor, and reached the doubtful security of that fortress (officially known as Fort Mills) which subsequently (6 May) surrendered to the Japanese forces barely a month after the Fall of Bataan. Then, more specifically, I finally heard from my former Ward Nurse, Miss (later Col. ANC) Pacita T. Paguio, when we were both assigned to the newly organized V. Luna General Hospital, a few months after liberation. She had not served in Bataan, but was a friend and contemporary of some of those who had served there. She later continued in the Army Nurse Corps for 30 years and retired with her high rank, after also serving with the Filipino forces in Vietnam. She had been able to contact a friend, 50

Col. Juana Ranada, who had been with the group of nurses in Bataan and Corregidor. She too had reached the rank of Colonel. They had started as civilian nurses, but were later integrated into the USAFFE. Here is her personal account: 23 December 1941, Manila: There had been an order to evacuate all civilian and military nurses, given in the afternoon at our hospital. This was carried out at 6:00 a.m. the following day. We boarded the convoy and proceeded to Limay, Bataan, where we arrived at noon of the same day. We moved into prepared barracks which had been set up by army engineers, and despite some air raid alarms and harassment, managed to convert it into a base hospital.

9 January 1942: A group of Filipino civilian and American military nurses were transferred to Cabcaben, where a larger hospital was being prepared. At the beginning, seriously wounded patients were sheltered under tents, while the others were temporarily placed on bamboo "papags" under the trees. The doctors and nurses also slept under the trees, with "shelter halves" stretched overhead, and provided with dugouts and foxholes nearby. We were fed twice a day—8:00 a m. and 5:00 p.m.—mostly cold, or precooked early in the morning to avoid campfire smoke during the day. We were also given our daily ration of quinine, but in spite of this precaution, several of us came down with malaria, which is endemic in Bataan. 8 April 1942: That night there was an evacuation of doctors and nurses to Corregidor, so we were brought to the evacuation point at Mariveles. We left early the next morning and at noon reached our destination, where we were immediately assigned to the tunnels of the hospital section. That same day, when Bataan surrendered, the following civilian nurses 51

were commissioned USAFFE:

1. Amalia Barrera 2. Juana Ranada 3. Lucila Barrera 4. Perfecta Quintos 5. Gcnoveva Lara 6. Esperanza Valido 7. Paula Trinidad

8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

3rd lieutenants and inducted into the

Lumen Cruz Anna Bayan Sustines Lorenzana Benilda Castaneda Adelaida Garcia Cleopatra Dulay Felisa Chan

15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

Anita Profetana Hcrminia Eieso Catalina Tolentino Federica Garcia Ereginia Espinosa

All these newly commissioned officers were now fully integrated into the army and received assignments for duty at the Fort Mills Station Hospital in Corregidor. Later on, when the situation in the Philippines became critical, General MacArthur and his staff, including Gen. Carlos P. Romulo and other Filipino officials led by President Manuel L. Quezon, were evacuated to Mindanao, and later on flown to Australia. Some of the American nurses were able to join the group, but others were stranded in Min­ danao. The Filipino group remained with their patients in Corregidor.

6 May 1942. Corregidor surrendered to the Japanese forces, and they took over the operation of the hospital. The Filipino nurses were assigned to a tunnel at one end, and the few remain­ ing American nurses at another. An incident one night indi­ cated the mood of the Japanese, one of whom tried to sneak into the tunnel where the Filipino nurses were quartered, but their loud screams drove him away. During our stay in Corregidor we did "radio tayso" daily, or exercising to radio music. 2July 1942: The Japanese evacuated us to Manila. The Filipino nurses were sent to Bilibid Prison, and the Americans to the UST 52

University of Santo Tomas) compound where American civilians were interned. A few of them were sent to the Sta. Catalina Girls Dormitory nearby. While in Bataan and Corregidor and again in Bilibid, we became accustomed to the twice-a-day feeding: 8:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m.

22 July 1942: We were finally released from Bilibid by our Japanese captors, thanks to the kind efforts of the Filipino Nurses Associa­ tion and the Philippine Medical Association. This was facilitated by the fact that the Japanese were already im­ plementing their policy of gradually releasing all prisoners of war. The above events as recounted were indeed good news and relieved our concern over the fate of our Filipino nurses, espe­ cially after we had heard of the initial abuses by Japanese soldiers on our civilian women, as I called to mind our Bataan slogan "Remember Erlinda!" Perhaps we should be grateful to the Japanese, especially their well-disciplined officers for having restrained their men from molesting our "Florence Nightingales" and giving them fair treatment and eventual release, unharmed, to their anxious families.

53

Chapter 9

THE FALL OF BATAAN

AS the days passed and the weeks became months, with no hope of reinforcements from what we were now convinced had been all along a mythical convoy speeding to our relief, it became obvious that the fighting days in Bataan were numbered. We were receiving fewer actual battle casualties but more medical and nutritional cases like malaria, dysentery and beri-beri from the inadequate "lugao" diet, polluted water and the ever­ present anopheles mosquito. We could offer little relief except rest, better but inadequate food, and diminishing medicines made to last as long as possible. The news from the front lines, now getting nearer our rearward positions, was getting worse daily. The enemy, newly reinforced by the arrival of fresh troops and those battle-tested in recently won encounters in the South Pacific area, stepped up its offensive. The daily bombings and the artillery and tank-led attacks increased in intensity. As the early days of April approached, the fate of Bataan became sealed. For us it was only a question of time, and we wondered how it would be. Would we be overwhelmed and massacred to the last man, or allowed to surrender uncondition­ ally? Would we be captured and sent to Prisoner of War camps? Or would we be allowed to go home peacefully to rejoin our anxious families? These questions and others crowded our thoughts. We knew that the Japanese were fierce fighters, imbued with fanatical zeal in fighting for their Emperor, and even though we still believed that they used inferior and "Made in Japan" equipment, we knew that they had proven themselves superior fighters in their encounters in Southeast Asia. Because 54

of their frustration and anger at our unexpectedly strong defense and the delaying of their war timetable, we feared that they would show no mercy and would punish us for thwarting their plans for a quick victory. Perhaps it is relevant at this point to check on the actual date of our surrender. I had no calendar with me nor did we pay par­ ticular attention to the passing days with their depressing monotony. We knew, however, that it was past the end of March because we had received our monthly pay (money was prob­ ably the only item in plentiful supply, and we had no way of spending what we received). Then suddenly there was an increase in the severity and frequency of bombings and other ominous war sounds and an air of impending catastrophe in the first days of April. In my own estimate, the actual surrender day must have been in the middle of Holy Week, probably Holy Thursday or Good Friday. However, I have read a number of accounts of the Fall of Bataan, and there is a divergence of opinion as to the exact day. Some agreed with my own impres­ sion that it was during Holy Week, a fitting end to a hopeless struggle against overwhelming odds (not in manpower, but in war material, food and medical supplies). However, an equal number recounted that it was the week before Holy Week. Hence, to settle the matter more authoritatively, I wrote to the Manila (Jesuit) Observatory inquiring when Holy Week occurred in 1942, and received a reply from Father Victor Badil­ lo, SJ., Director of the Observatory, that Good Friday in 1942 occurred on 3 April. The Fall of Bataan occurred on 9 April. My impression was therefore wrong. We surrendered not during Holy Week but a week after. Battle activity rapidly increased at first and then gradually decreased as our troops withdrew from their untenable posi­ tions, and the previously reverberating sounds became an almost unbearable silence, broken occasionally by sporadic bursts of machinegun fire from the spearheading tanks, aimed at clearing snipers from the roadsides. The resulting quiet was almost as unnerving as the previous chaos of shell and bomb bursts and rifle and machinegun fire. This final denouement was 55

an emotional and nervous letdown. For all of our men—the fighters and their auxiliary support, including our own medical service—it was the end of all military and para-military activity. For us this was the curtain-call of our mission "to conserve man­ power." While we waited for the coming of the victors, we were instructed to prepare our few belongings, secure any food and medical supplies still available, and more importantly, to destroy all Japanese war souvenirs such as helmets, rifles (I had one given to me by one of our casualties), revolvers, and especially (if any) the treasured Samurai swords captured from the enemy, as possession of any such item meant that it came from a dead soldier, and this would anger the victors, especially the Samurai sword, because it meant a dead officer. As an exaggerated version of such anger, an American writer tells of an American officer who had gotten rid of all Japanese material, but forgot a small mirror with the words on its back "Made in Japan." Upon seeing this item, the inspecting Japanese officer "blew his top" and forcing the American to kneel, chopped off his head with one quick sweep of his Samurai sword. This is, of course, an extreme example of the cruelty, anger and frustration of the victors. Other examples which we witnessed were the unrelent­ ing pressures of the forced march after the surrender, with beatings with bamboo poles, and the impatient shouts of "Kura! Kura!" As we were preparing to meet the victorious enemy, we were also warned to throw away any sharp or bladed instruments, including the knives and forks in our mess-kits, because the Japanese did not want to give us an opportunity to commit "harakiri" because of the shame of our defeat, which many Japanese would have done had they been the losers. We in our particular unit, being a medical and non-combatant group, were advised to wear our Red Cross armbands and display prominently our caduceus insignia to emphasize our medical status. As an added precaution, we were told to remove other insignia of rank or decoration, and even jewelry (rings or religious tokens) and especially watches, as these were eagerly sought by the enemy 56

as useful souvenirs. I wore my watch because I felt it was an indispensable accessory, but lost it just the same as watches were the most prized items confiscated by the Japanese. We gathered our personnel near the entrance to our campsite in order to be easily accessible to the advancing enemy troops and were soon greeted by the roar and clanking of tanks which still sporadically fired their machineguns along the road­ side, followed by trucks and combat vehicles bearing the spear­ head of the conquering troops and the specially selected officers and men who spoke a little English or Tagalog, who would accept our surrender and give us preliminary instruc­ tions. It was the first time for many of us, specially the medical personnel, to see in the flesh genuine Japanese soldiers, wear­ ing their baggy uniforms and either small helmets or the soon-to-be familiar sight of their canvas caps with the flapping ear coverings dangling at the side. They were mostly short and stocky, except for the Koreans who were usually taller and more heavily built, and seemed to wear a habitual expression of hatred, contempt or grimness. We knew that they were as tired as we were, but of course they were better fed and cared for. An officer and some of his men quickly herded us together to one side of the road, and made us squat on our haunches and wait for further instructions. We later learned that this proce­ dure was standard operating procedure for all collections or groups of prisoners as later practiced during the Death March when we were exposed to the hot sun and dust for hours at a time. The officer who spoke a little English then addressed us in a hesitant but cheerful manner: Fellow Asians: We are here to accept your unconditional surrender, and in a friendly gesture, welcome you to our Greater East Asia Co-prosperity Sphere. We are your friends, not your enemies like your ex-comrades, the im­ perialist Americans. And to prove this to you, you will soon be freed and allowed to leave for your homes in or near Manila, and to be reunited with your families. Please be patient and submit and follow the instructions

57

from our men. You will be given water, food and necessary medicines. Congratulations for your heroic fighting which was wasted in defense of an alien ideology. Be lighthearted and happy, because the war for you has ended. This was the prelude to the Death March.

58

Chapter 10

THE DEATH MARCH

ALL of us prisoners of war were thrilled and had uplifted hopes for an end to our trials and suffering, upon hearing those inspir­ ing words of our Japanese captors. We knew we had lost the final battle and the hopeless war, and had grimly prepared for the worst. But we could not have anticipated the utter horror of that long drawn-out march from our bivouacs in the forests of Bataan to the shaky shelters of the old training cadres of Camp O’Donnell in Capas. We had been promised freedom, but this was not to be. We had prepared for our surrender, but had only a vague idea that under the terms of the Geneva convention, we would probably be interned or imprisoned for the duration of the Pacific War. So we prepared for any eventuality. We packed an extra uniform (if we still had any) and under­ wear, and scrounged for what little food supplies in the form of rice and canned goods might be left. We got rid of all military fighting paraphernalia like guns, bayonets, bullets, except for our steel helmets which we thought might still prove useful, but which were quickly abandoned as too cumbersome and heavy once the March was underway. We scraped the bottom of the barrel for any available medicines like quinine, sulfa and halazone tablets. We filled our canteens with fresh water. Some of our men discovered a hoard of canned pineapple juice, which they quickly appropriated; they drank some and poured the rest into their canteens, despite the warnings of knowledgeable of­ ficers that to drink the sour-sweet juice during a hot march would only cause greater thirst. We made sure that we carried no enemy souvenirs like rifles, 59

bayonets, pistols, even a rare samurai sword, small Japanese helmets with shrapnel or bullet holes—anything that spelled a wounded or dead Japanese soldier, as their being found upon search by our guards would mean instant death. As mentioned in the last chapter, we were advised by those familiar with the Japanese code of Bushido that we must get rid of any bladed instrument, even the knives and forks of our messkits, because they could be used to commit hara-kiri or sepuku as most Japanese forced to surrender would resort to. We retained our insignia of rank and service, as well as our personal possessions like Filipino money, wrist watches, and wedding or class rings, and of course any devotional items like medals, rosaries or small prayer books. The Death March was truly a "forced" march. In ordinary military terms a forced march would mean that a group of sol­ diers was ordered to march to accomplish an urgent mission at maximum speed and precision, with a minimum of rest and no stops even for meals, which were taken "on the run." The pur­ pose of a military forced march is usually to attain supremacy over or achieve surprise upon an unsuspecting enemy and thus destroy or cripple him. It means driving the men almost unmer­ cifully to the limit of their physical resources. In the case of our Death March, it was definitely a forced march, but with the added hazard that to hesitate, seek rest, slake thirst or eat (what little was available, and "on the run") meant severe punishment or even death by bullet or bayonet. It may have been a blessing in disguise that it was mid-summer, and there was no rain or mud which would have worsened conditions for a weary, hungry and sick pack of despairing "ex­ soldiers." As it was, the daily tropical heat, plus the reddishyellow dust raised by passing vehicles or even the slow, dragging march of the prisoners themselves and their prodding guards, were factors which quickly slowed down and even decimated their pitiful numbers. I am not certain whether any group was forced to continue the march at night. Our group did not. Perhaps the fact that our group was more orderly and perhaps more physically strong, and that we were a compact group 60

wearing our Red Cross armbands which clearly identified us as a medical group, and hence technically non-combatants, earned for us a privilege. We were allowed to lie down at night for much needed rest and relief from the scorching heat of the daytime march. There may have been another factor in our favor. One of the leaders of the group, Captain Augusto de los Reyes, had done some military and medical training for several years in Japan, and he was one of the few who could speak Nippongo. The moment the Japanese guards heard him speak their tongue, their attitude changed from that of bullying, arrogant and angry watchdogs to that of tolerant, even friendly captors, if such a posture could be imagined from a victorious and impatient enemy. The maltreatment of the prisoners by their Japanese guards was expected, but it far surpassed the worst expectations of the despairing and bedraggled captives. The defenders of Bataan had exacted a heavy toll in men and material from the invaders, who had experienced little resistance in their rapid conquest of other Asian countries. We had prolonged and increased the cost of conquest and upset their carefully prepared timetable. This had so angered them that they had sworn to "take it out on our hides" once we were conquered. Later, to our surprise, we discovered that those whose treat­ ment of us was more merciless and cruel were the conscript Koreans who may have been either more cruel by nature, or who in this manner sought to ingratiate themselves with their Japanese superiors. So, right after that spirited "lecture on freedom" from the Japanese officer, during which we had been ordered to squat on our haunches in the heat of the sun, we were formed in files of two or four abreast, and ordered to march in a generally southeasterly direction. Thus began the infamous Death March. Our group was still more fresh, stronger and healthier than the others who had preceded or followed us, and we made good 61

progress, unaware of our destination, but still with the slim hope that we would be directed to a staging place for the trip "home." However, as the hours went by and the march con­ tinued, and as we passed some slower and weaker detachments, it became evident that we were headed for a long and distant destination. The first night was a welcome surprise because our group was allowed to break ranks and find a place to sleep in the abandoned rice or cornfields, which had been baked dry and hard by the day-time sun, but which offered a welcome refuge from the heat and dust of the road. There were no fruit trees nor other sources of food, and the drinking water from roadside wells had long ago either dried up or become fouled by disease and death, and the few that still yielded some brackish water which we found along the way, were denied the hungry and thirsty prisoners by the guards who either shouted warnings or swung bamboo sticks or their rifles at the hapless horde. On rare occasions, the crazed antics of those seeking water prompted the guards to kill them with bayonet or bullet. One of the first acts of our captors was to search all prisoners first for any hidden weapons or "souvenirs" such as Japanese combat paraphernalia. Then they took their own "souvenirs" such as our wristwatches, rings or other jewelry, insignia of rank and service and even money. Most of us were prepared for this and either got rid of any souvenirs, or hidden our valued items or money elsewhere on our persons. Later, it was a matter of humor and a certain bravura on the part of our stage entertainers during the Japanese Occupation, that when anyone played the part of a Japanese soldier, he usually displayed his forearms from wrists to elbows lined with wristwatches (presumably taken from prisoners) and almost recklessly flaunted to the snickering audience, despite the ever-present risk that some Japanese soldiers or spies might witness the act and report it to the Japanese authorities. Such

Tugo and Pugo. Fortunately for them, the authorities were 62

either unaware of the implications, or chose to shrug them off as "actors’ license." As far as I know, they did not come to any trouble or harm. One of our sufferings during the march was caused by the overwhelmingly oppressive heat of the daytime sun, coupled with the everpresent clouds of yellow-red dust that hung over the busy roads, which had originally been paved with either asphalt or macadam, but were now inches-thick layers of powdery dust. The previous weeks of charge and countercharge and the grinding weight of passing trucks, tanks and grim fighting soldiers had rendered the roads almost impassable, but thanks to the fact that it was mid-summer, there was no rain or mud to complicate matters. The first 24 hours passed with patient plodding and fair progress, after the initial confusion and scattered violence that marked the searches and disciplinary actions and formation of marching ranks at the start. As the hours slowly passed, first thirst and then hunger set in, but this was partly slaked by what meager supplies of water and food we had been able to bring along. Our guards never offered any food or drink, and even foiled any attempt by the marching prisoners or townsfolk along the way who tried to render help. The number of walking wounded or sick (malaria or dysentery) gradually lessened as they fell along the wayside. In the following days matters became worse as food and water became more scarce or unavailable, and the visibly weakened and exhausted marchers struggled to their feet and moved on more slowly, spurred by the relentless prodding of the guards. When we passed the rare flowing streams along the roadside in the towns we passed by, desperate prisoners rushed forward to fill canteens or take a swallow of the precious liquid. At first the guards tolerated it, but as attempts were more frequent, they hardened their hearts and either beat or other­ wise maltreated the men, or in extreme cases, bayonetted or shot them dead. The situation became so critical that the thirst-maddened

63

men rushed to roadside ditches to lap up the muddy water. This caused or aggravated the intestinal problems which the lack or poor quality of food and drink had already begun to cause. I remember the case of one of the first American POWs I had seen (most of them were in another sector of the march) who was standing and heavily leaning on a wire fence, with his pants down to his ankles and bloody diarrhea streaming down from his buttocks. He looked pitiful and I knew that he could not last more than a few hours before he would collapse and death would relieve him of his agony. One of the minor but very bothersome complications of this forced march was the early development of blisters on the feet, rendering even the slowest walking painful. Fortunately for me, 1 had followed the advice of experienced marchers at the start of our journey, and had put on two pairs of socks, which mini­ mized the wear and tear of the march. Others had tried to stop (this was impossible during the march). While we rested at night they took off their shoes and massaged their aching and blistered feet. In the long run, even the shoes had to be dis­ carded and walking in socks or even bare feet became a neces­ sary but dangerous alternative. Despite the increasing problems and mounting complica­ tions, the march kept going, with prisoners already dragging their sore feet and the stronger trying to help the weaker, but making poor progress. Many gradually dropped along the wayside, dying from disease and hunger, and the relentless driving of the guards. Throughout the long painful march, there hung over all the marchers, not only a pall of dust, but also the smell of cordite from the recent fighting. Then later, as the sun beat upon the dead bodies bloated and covered with flies or maggots, the heavy smell of death pervaded the air. The actual march from Cabcaben and Mariveles in Bataan to the railroad station at San Fernando, Pampanga, was accomplished by a majority of the prisoners within the first four or five days and nights. This was a total of about 105 kilometers along the zigzagging and up-and-down road which was mostly 64

near the eastern coast of Bataan. The route passed through the following towns: Mariveles, Cabcaben, Lamao, Limay, Orion, Pilar, Balanga (capital), Abucay, and Mabatang, Samal, Orani, Hermosa and Almacen, then past the junction to Dinalupihan and finally Lubao and San Fernando (capital) in Pampanga, where there was a regrouping and organizational stopover prior to boarding the cattle cars for the 40-kilometer trip by rail to Capas. There was another stop and regrouping, prior to a con­ tinuation of the march from the town of Capas in Tarlac to the prison camp (Camp O’Donnell) which was some 12 to 15 kilometers away. During the four nights of the minimum duration of the march, there was a welcome respite from the arduous daytime march. Many of the prisoners were forced by their guards to lie down along the roadside, while military traffic continued on the road. There were reports of injuries or even of Some being crushed to death by the onrushing vehicles, as the prisoners were made to lie down with heads towards the road and feet to the side. Our medical group was more fortunate. In fact we real­ ized later that since we were a non-combatant and more disciplined group, we must have been accorded more humane treatment. We welcomed each evening’s respite and lay down in the open fields, under the sky and the stars. I remember that as we rested and attended to some personal needs, we would look up at the stars and recognize certain easily identifiable con­ stellations like the Big Dipper in which we located the two "pointer stars" that pointed to the North Star, and from it we judged our general direction of march. We also located the Southern Cross and again were able to orient ourselves as to the direction of our march. It looked like we were heading due south, although by the map, our first destination, San Fernando, was more to the north. Anyway we were going away from the fighting fronts and were partly relieved that we were heading away from any more fighting. There were many attempts to escape because we had heard of the beatings and summary executions taking place during the march. So there were those who decided to take the risky path 65

to possible freedom. And this was best attempted at night, especially near the outskirts of a town where there were always people anxious to help us with a change of clothing, food and water, and shelter while we planned to travel farther and faster away from the war and to the relative peace of the more distant towns and people. During the day we did not have any time to think or plan or even wonder what was to become of us. It was simply a matter of survival, as we struggled first with thirst, and then hunger, and husbanded our meager supplies to make them last as long as possible. We took care of our health and our feet, made more possible since our particular group was not as hard-pressed as most of the others. We were convinced that somehow or other, our captors respected our non-combatant status, just as they were easier on the civilians who had been forced into the march, as they had been our truck drivers (pressed into service together with their commandeered trucks) and other laborers who had been picked up during the retreat into Bataan by the engineering units to aid in the preparation and maintenance of the campsites. There was little of a medical nature for us to do except distribute what little of medicines such as quinine, sulfas and any analgesics and antiseptics some of us had been able to bring along and which had not been taken away from us during the many unscheduled searches by our guards. The sick and the dying and anybody who could not keep up with the steady though often slow pace of the march, had to be left behind as any delay in our progress provoked the guards to shout "Kura! Kura!" and use their sticks or other "persuaders" to goad us to keep going. It was only at night when the guards, themselves tired and hungry, relaxed their vigil and allowed us to rest or even sleep. This was the time for us to do a little thinking: of our families, of our predicament and doubtful future. We did some hopeless dreaming and of course our continuous praying for some relief or miraculous end to our suffering, and the spirit (which was usually willing and hopeful) to keep up the fight and spur our weakened flesh to superhuman endurance. This was also the 66

time of desperation which spurred some to risk severe punish­ ment or even death, to escape this living hell. We learned sometime later in the POW camp what had happened to some of our less fortunate brethren during those hectic days following the surrender of Bataan, when the enraged victors, especially the Koreans, exacted a terrible revenge on their hapless prisoners.

67

Chapter 11

CAPAS

LOOKING back upon the landscape of Bataan and the warscarred ruins of a once-pleasant and productive province, we saw a vista of desolation. There was no vegetation, few if any trees, and only an occasional lonely skeleton of a former farmhouse in the distance. All along the dusty road were the relics of tanks, military and civilian vehicles, artillery pieces and trailers and other paraphernalia of war, with here and there bloated bodies which had been left unburied. It was a dismal sight and fitted our mood of loss and despair. There was only relief at night when the darkness hid these scars of war and defeat. On the final days of the march, just as we were approaching the boundary between Bataan and Pampanga near the towns of Dinalupihan and Lubao, the Japanese, having released a measure of their anger and revenge, and noting the worsening condition of the struggling prisoners, decided to provide a lit­ tle water and our first food in days, which consisted of a ball of rice and a pinch (teaspoon) of rock salt as a daily ration. To us who were half-starved and with dry, parched throats, this was like a bit of heaven. We eagerly lapped up the precious water and found the combination of rice and salt very tasty and satis­ fying. This served us well and we arrived a day later in better spirits and renewed physical stamina. When we arrived in San Fernando, Pampanga, we realized that it was a major staging center for us prisoners because they were all around us, squatting in the now familiar posture, in separate groups overseen by their officers and guarded by the Japanese. We were temporarily billeted in a schoolhouse, so that 68

it was a brief relief from the heat and dust of the roads. The presence of buildings and houses, many in partial ruin, was a welcome change, and even the distant and controlled presence of civilians was a rare treat. We noted that there were isolated attempts by the latter to help us, but they were usually kept at a distance and could render little aid. We stayed for a few days in San Fernando as it took time for the many groups to be organized and then packed into steel­ sided and steel-topped cattle cars, for the train ride to Capas. The presence of many sick, wounded and dying prisoners required some rapid weeding out, but even some of them were finally included in the crowds that were pressed into the cars for the trip north. When our turn came, we realized that it would be another trial of physical and moral endurance as we were literally "packed like sardines" so as to accommodate as many as possible for each trip of the trains. Fortunately the trip was for only a few hours, but many of those who were in the cars collapsed and died on the way, and arrival at the railroad station in Capas revealed many additional casualties. Upon arrival in Capas, we were welcomed by a group of women and girls who offered us food and drink, but the guards kept most of them away as they herded us for the addi­ tional march to the prison camp at O’Donnell. I noted the obvious and painful relief, and even tears, with which the prisoners eagerly rushed off the train, hoping for a little ease­ ment of their suffering, but most experienced bitter disappoint­ ment as the guards deprived them of this humanitarian relief as they quickly formed us into ranks and started the second phase of the march, which consisted of about 12-15 kilometers of the same type of straggling progress until we reached the gates of Camp O’Donnell. The Concentration Camp This area had been hurriedly prepared by the Philippine Army as a training cadre just prior to the outbreak of the war, and was definitely a "temporary" camp with bamboo and nipa structures, some of them long two-storey barracks, which were 69

frail and shaky at best. There was no furniture, and we had to wait for the local officials to assign us our places, which we quick­ ly occupied. We made ourselves as comfortable as possible, lying down on the hard but clean bamboo floors, using our bags of meager clothing and other personal effects as a pillow. It took some days to adjust to our new surroundings and the food situation gradually became more varied and adequate, from the early camote, to later bits of fish, other vegetables, and much later a very limited amount of meat. There were no medicines or other means of treating most of the prisoners who were suffering from malaria, dysentery and malnutrition (most­ ly beri-bcri), and the very rare hoarded supplies that had survived the capture and march, such as quinine and sulfas. The Japanese did not bring in medicines, to my knowledge, until some months later. Most of the prisoners had by then either died or mercifully been released when this became effective early in July 1942. Later we learned that they had begun receiv­ ing quinine tablets (a light brown color, different from the oncefamiliar white). These had been processed from the large cinchona plantations ofJava (now Indonesia) where the pre-war supplies of quinine originated and supplied world markets. Recently a lady journalist, Lita Torralba Logarta, wrote an ar­ ticle charging that Filipino doctors in the camp sold medicines and other medical items received from the Japanese for distribu­ tion, and thus "made money" from the misery of their fellow prisoners. I personally had no knowledge of any such practice, and knew many of the doctors, as we shared the same quarters,later called the "hospital group." However, since we must have been nearly 100 medical personnel in the camp, it is always possible that there could have been "scallawags" as can be found in any group of human beings. There will always be exceptions, but I can affirm with confidence that, if there were any, they were few and far between in Camp O’Donnell. Daily Deaths Because of the grave weakness of almost all and the over­ whelming number of the prisoners suffering from malaria and 70

dysentery, and the absence of adequate food and basic medicines, the daily death toll was enormous and during the peak of occupancy of the camp, averaged 300 to 400. It was a depressing sight for us the living to witness the daily procession of the dead,their emaciated bodies wrapped in blankets, and slung between two stumbling POWs, heading for the large com­ mon graves located some distance from the main camp. The highest recorded death toll occurred during the celebration of the Japanese Emperor’s birthday, when all prisoners, sick or well, were required to rise early and face towards the islands of Japan and remain standing in that position for hours, with the sick dropping dead on the ground in great numbers. Sanitation facilities were minimal, especially in the early weeks of the encampment. Beside every barracks, there was an area of crossed bamboo poles, with sharpened ends driven into a sandy pit, and the rounded open end set at waist height for the prisoners to urinate. Latrines were in the shape of open trenches with wooden planks on top, on which the POWs would squat and relieve themselves. Needless to say, in many instances, the men who were suffering from dysentery and whose faeces were bloody and mucoid, often smeared the planks. This made the process of squatting rather hazardous, even for those who were reasonably healthy. In some instances, it was disastrous to the sick, some of whom slipped down into the fecal mess, swarming with flies. They had to be hauled out and cleaned and given clean clothes if available. For bathing, there were limited areas where water was rationed for washing purposes. Malaria An observation I made during the Capas days was that we had so many malaria cases that it was not unusual that 15 to 20 might simultaneously be having their daily or every-other-day chills. I have mentioned that our barracks buildings were built of bamboo and nipa, and ours was a two-storey affair, at best a shaky structure. So it was not unexpected that during these bouts of simultaneous chillings, the building actually vibrated 71

with the rhythm of the chills! Many of those to whom I have recounted this experience would laugh and ridicule my state­ ment. It is actually a fact that in ordinary hospital wards where malarial patients have violent chills, their iron beds, some with mosquito-net frames, definitely rattle with their chills. So it was not so improbable that in our flimsy quarters, many patients having simultaneous chills did really shake the flimsy buildings. Another observation regarding the prevalence of malaria was seen on the openings of the urinals which were often stained black or reddish black by the bloody urine of the patients, who had complications involving their kidneys, caus­ ing hemorrhages commonly called "black water fever." This is a serious and often fatal complication of malaria called hemoglobinuria. It seems strange that with so many cases of malaria, varia­ tions in symptoms and treatment would crop up. I remember during one of our gripe sessions among the doctors one of the principal complaints was the scarcity or absence of quinine for treating ou patients. On one particular occasion, one of the doc­ tors held up a large bottle containing a thousand pills, labeled "Quinidine Sulphate." The question arose, Could he use quinidine instead of quinine to treat our cases, since the latter was no longer available? We suggested a trial, since we could do no further harm to patients who were dying like flies anyway for lack of the correct medicine. Why the similarity in names, if they were not related? Actually, quinidine is an alkaloid of cinchona bark, an isomeric quinine. So we tried it and it worked. We were able to save dozens of patients and were sorry that others had not had the presence of mind to grab more bottles of the medicine.

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Chapter 12

THE GUAVA DETAIL

ONE of the big benefits and sources of treatment and even of communication with our relatives outside was the so-called "guava detail." The bark and leaves of guava when boiled like tea possesses astringent qualities, and is hence useful in the management of diarrheal diseases. There was very limited knowledge about herbal remedies among us, but several remembered that they had yayas or other household help who used to chew guava leaves and apply the mass directly to wounds to stop the bleeding and speed their healing. I recall that my brother was once cut on his knee and received such emergency treatment and thereafter bore a greenish scar over the healed area. Anyway the proposal was made to the camp officials to try the tea. After all, there were then no available medicines for our thousands of dysentery cases, so permission was granted for a group of five or ten prisoners accompanied by a Japanese guard to leave the camp and scour the nearby areas for guava trees which they would strip of leaves and bark, and bring back in sacks to the camp to be used as a herbal tea. They were strictly forbidden to communicate withthe townspeople and farmers, or to accept gifts of food or clothing from them. So the so-called "guava detail" went out daily on its medical mission. Inevitably, despite the watchful eyes of their guard, some of the prisoners were able to contact the people (Filipino ingenuity?) and accept or exchange simple notes or scribbled news from the POWs to and from their relatives as far away as Manila. When I heard of this, I was at first skeptical of its success, but in desperation I tried it out and after several weeks,

73

received a thankful answer from my family in Manila whom I had assured that I was alive and reasonably well. I learned that they too were together and managing satisfactorily under the difficult occupation conditions. We were always warned to be careful about what we wrote in case the notes were discovered by the suspicious guards. This method of communication succeeded beyond our expectations, and we were careful not to burden the members of the "detail" with too many or too bulky messages. My only exception was when I decided to send money to my family. We had been paid our salaries while in Bataan and I had collected P700 in large bills which I had no use for and so I wrapped it up as tightly as possible with a short letter, and entrusted it to a "detail" member. I was lucky because weeks later I received a confirmatory note from my wife that they had noted "the arrival of the seven dwarfs" and the good news they brought. I am certain that other POWs and their families similarly benefited from this dangerous but valuable practice of our new revered "guava detail. " It was a great boost to our morale to have this new "service" because it gave us not only a good though weak remedy for one of the most prevalent diseases in the camp, but gave us a limited opportunity to communicate for practically the first time with our families at home. Another boon to our existence were the frequent attempts of our families all throughout Luzon to organize groups of rela­ tives who made the difficult and often hazardous trip all the way to the gates of Camp O’Donnell to bring small packets of medicines, canned goods and even luxuries such as tooth­ brushes and toothpaste and toilet and laundry soap. It was frustrating when they finally reached their destination that the Japanese authorities not only would not allow them inside the camp, but accepted all their relief bundles, with the promise that "they would be given" to the corresponding prisoners. Actually, they seldom if ever were given to the intended recipients. Either they were confiscated and used by the officers and guards them­ selves, or sometimes released to the heads of the newly

74

organized groups, and unfortunately ended there. For my part, I was told later after release that some of my friends and relatives had indeed made the long trip to O’Donnell and had confidently left their bundles with the officials at the gate but I for one never received a single item of the above articles. These welfare groups were more frequent and well organized than we were aware of, and made many trips to the camp, bringing food, medicines and clothing for the POWs. Among the better known ones were those organized and led by the Red Cross, and those formed by well-known social workers like Josefa Llanes Escoda, Lulu Reyes and some religious groups, especially if they had relatives and friends among the POWs. We did not benefit as much as had been intended, because as I have already mentioned, the camp guards would accept the goods with the solemn promise that they would be duly delivered to the appropriate parties, but in most cases were never received. There may have been some exceptions and these were either directly or indirectly benefited, which added even in a small way to the general well being and morale, as we realized that we had relatives and friends who worried and cared enough to buy and gather these materials, often sacrific­ ing their own needs and comforts, and enduring the long and arduous trip from Manila to the camp. Unfortunately, their efforts actually helped very little, and disease and death continued to decimate our ranks. As the days extended into weeks, the original dry, hot weather which plagued us daily gave way to the arrival of the rainy season. Although we welcomed the cooler weather and greater availability of water for drinking and washing, the rain, mud and exposure aggravated some of the diseases and brought on additional respiratory ailments which only complicated the problems of their management and control. But progress was being made and the organization and operation of the various groups became more workable. The food supplies, storage and cooking were systematized and better discipline enforced under the watchful eyes of our guards.

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Chapter 13

QUESTIONING

ONE of the more unusual activities that we discovered while in the camp was the selection of certain POWs for interrogation and interview with apparently an attempt at assessing the men­ tal and emotional impact of the surrender to, and occupation by, a powerful but hated enemy. During the three or four months of our concentration, several interviews of selected POWs were conducted by a group of specially trained Japanese officers who probed into our culture, religious and education­ al attainments and standing in the community, with this purpose in mind. We observed that those picked for the inter­ views were members of well-known families in Manila and key provinces, especially those involved in government or cultural activities. Some of these families were those of the Guerreros, Buencaminos, Cruzes, Yenkos, Sorianos, Zobels, de Leons, and de Veyras (I had two relatives who had also served in the war: Gen. Antonio de Veyra and Dick de Veyra). Others interviewed were Rufino, Santos, Roxas, Soliven, Escaler, Romulo, Lopez, Father Gaerlan (chaplain) and many others well known in government and social or military circles. We who had been picked out wondered at first whether we were being selected as an example to the other POWs. We were even hopeful that if the interview was satisfactory, we would be released ahead of the others. It was apparent that this was the ultimate purpose of our con­ centration: first, punishment for our war efforts; then in­ doctrination and reorientation away from our long history of contact with Western civilization; and then final release because they still considered us as "brothers and friends" (tomadachi). 76

At the interview the general tenor of their questions was indicative of their purpose. After ascertaining our names, addresses and nearest relatives, army unit (base hospital, medi­ cal service) and official non-combatant status, their first questions were somewhat as follow: "Why did you surrender?" Our obvious answer was because we had no choice. We had been defeated by disease and malnutrition, lack of food, medicines and ammunition, and physical and moral exhaustion. We had lost the war to a stronger and better supplied and better supported enemy and our much vaunted "Spartan-Roman" concept of national defense had been "weighed in the balance and found wanting." "Will you submit to the authority of the Imperial Japanese Forces?" In other words, would we be willing to lay down our arms and cease active or covert resistance to the occupation government forces? This was a crucial question and its answer would strongly influence our immediate future. Most of us felt that we had done our share in the war effort and were content to stay in the background with the general attitude of "watchful waiting." I learned from my family later that they heard that my reply indicated my intention of "never surrendering" and con­ tinued opposition in whatever form to the Japanese rule, and thus practically condemned myself to an indefinite continuation of concentration. Actually, this was not the case as I was tired of the war and only wanted to be left alone and in peace. In the bitterness of our defeat, we were in no mood to continue fight­ ing an obviously superior enemy, and only wanted to be home with our loved ones and share the "privations and unfamiliarly strict discipline." "What do you think of the Greater East Asia Co-prosperity Sphere?" This was avowedly the goal of conquest in order to spread the Japanese hegemony over this large area which was rich in manpower and natural resources. It comprised the whole Pacific basin including Australia and even the Hawaiian Islands (hence the initial attack on Pearl Harbor). At first it seemed to be a rather ambitious and impractical dream, but considering the Japanese character and their proven military prowess, it did 77

not seem to be a "mission impossible.” We had been accustomed to western domination and civilization, and had been promised political independence. So we initially rejected subjection to an oriental power (whom we had been taught to regard as inferior and alien to our Christian culture). We were proud of our reputation as "the only Christian nation in the Far East" and looked askance at Buddhist or even Muslim culture. And now we lay, a defeated nation, abandoned by the United States who was fighting a monumental war on two world fronts, and now we were being offered limited independence, plus coopera­ tion and expertise in the formation of an Oriental power of great potential. We had been a subject nation for hundreds of years and had been used and exploited by Western powers, and here was a possibility of a dream materializing. As I said, our first reaction was to hesitate and even ridicule such a concept, but Japan had proven itself capable of such a task given full cooperation and support, and might be persuaded to share such "co-prosperity" with Greater East Asia, under the leadership of Japan. So I grudgingly agreed that such an ideal was feasible, provided that the U.S.A, and other Western powers could be persuaded to give up their own plans and dreams of an "EastWest" hegemony. How about our generations of Christian and Western civilization and culture? I was prompted to ask whether the Japanese would respect our religion and culture and not impose Buddhism and Bushido on an unwilling populace, and could these cultures co-exist under the dominance of a purely Orien­ tal civilization? They were taken aback by my question, but assured me that the Japanese would respect our beliefs and customs, just as they were being respected among the minorities that reside in Japan. I further cited the benefits brought to us by Westernization, principally the religion and culture brought by Spain, followed by the introduction by the United States of its public school system and the public health program, which (I believed) lifted us to a higher level than our neighboring countries. I did not 78

know that as far as education and health were concerned, Japan had a health and literacy record far superior to that of any nation in this region. Our initial reluctance to accept unconditional Japanese leadership was also based on our pre-war conviction that Japanese-made goods were cheap both in price and quality. The term "Made in Japan" usually signified poor quality and short life. Then too we knew that the status of women in Japan was much lower than our accustomed high regard for women. We knew that in Japan women were regarded only as necessary for the propagation of the race. They were made to walk behind their menfolk, and that "geishas" were professional entertainers trained to please their guests, and that their status was lower than even that of wives. These prejudices were difficult to shake off and stood as barriers in answering queries from the Japanese officers. Our interrogators often noted a certain animosity, perhaps aggravated by the language problem, in our reactions to their questions. We recalled that during our lifetime and even during the colonial years under Spain and America, there had been little or no contact with the Japanese. We were familiar with the Chinese and the Malays and accepted them as brothers and freely intermarried with them, so that many of us had Chinese blood, and of course even Spanish and American ancestry, giving rise to the special breed known as mestizos. But the Japanese remained behind their closed doors and the few we met or knew were either businessmen (operating the popular "Japanese bazaars") or were excellent gardeners or carpenters and, in fact, it was a status symbol to have ajapanese chauffeur. But the freedom of social, cultural and personal interchange, the quid pro quo of international relations was missing. The "closed door" to and from Japan remained essentially closed. To emphasize the amount of space devoted to the discus­ sion of the Japanese plan of a "Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere" and the importance of its understanding and coopera­ tion by conquered and occupied peoples, we were given a "Decalogue" of phrases that we were made to memorize and 79

recite daily like a prayer or “Credo" beginning with the first state­ ment which,as closely as I can remember, runs as follows: "Watakusi domotva, Kokuku Nippon ni, kansha shimasu," which translates freely as "We all appreciate our country, Japan. The ten or 12 other phrases that followed and which were religiously recited every morning, I have already forgotten. But it illustrates the fervor with which our captors wanted to emphasize the importance of this concept. There were many other questions they asked us related to our work, our previous participation in government activities, and even our war experience or preference for military service, to which we answered that as professionals we always preferred to work in the private sector while supporting the government in its national and international relationships. Our experience in the government was limited to several years of service in government hospitals in training programs for resident physicians, with no plans or ambition to continue in clinical or public health work. There were several carefully thought out "probing" questions as to whether we would be willing to serve in the Japanese Occupation Government in a professional capacity or to try to influence our friends and families to give at least moral support and not actively oppose our new rulers. This was a rather delicate situation as outright refusal might mean continued imprisonment or even severe punishment. We hedged in our answers by saying that we were still too near the horrors and privations of the war, and our immediate concern was to rest, be with our families and try to restructure our lives under an alien government. We could not make an about-face and embrace our conquerors or work up any enthusiasm to give them our full support. Our nights were still full of thoughts and memories of our own bitter and even heroic fight for victory or even survival, and remembrance of the stories ofJapanese cruel­ ty and atrocities. The most that we would promise was that we would no longer actively fight against our recent enemies. Perhaps our long involvement with Western and Christian civilization 400 years under Spain and 50 years under America had made us more Western in nature and outlook

80

and our aspirations were looking always towards the West. We had long been warned against the "heathen nature" of our Eastern neighbors, and were doubtful and even suspicious of their un-Christian practices and cultures. Many of their traits ran directly counter to our education and persuasions. So we were skeptical or even suspicious of the motives behind the military might and economic ambitions of the Japanese. Then, too, we were still hopeful of a return to Western control or'influence once the war was over and we would eventually emerge victorious with the solemnly promised "I shall return" of MacArthur and the assurance of President Roosevelt that our heroic battles would soon be vindicated. One of the procedures which were imposed upon all prisoners at Capas was the shaving of heads which may have been a routine practice for all POWs. At O’Donnell the first to have this done were the various groups known as "Details" such as the "guava," "water," "grass" and other vegetable-gathering personnel who were allowed to leave camp under guard to accomplish their various tasks. I concluded that this head­ shaving practice was done in order to make it easier to quickly identify any escaping prisoners for their recapture. I didn’t realize how practical and important this was until we were eventually released and began to mix with our families and friends, and we were quickly recognized as ex-POWs because of our pallor, under-nutrition and shaved heads. Once things became better organized in the camp, barbers in various sectors of the compound were scheduled to shave the heads of all prisoners. While it became apparent that it was one of the methods of identifying prisoners, it also served other purposes, such as better hygiene: no more problem with head lice or infections. So we became almost look-alikes with our shiny bald heads, skin pallor and general malnutrition. During our almost hopeless days and weeks at O’Donnell, as we witnessed the unrelieved sufferings of the sick and the mounting numbers of the dead, and with little improvement in our food and medical needs, it was easy to yield to despair and 81

despondency. The situation recalled the scene in Dante’s Infer­ no when incoming souls looked up and read the sign "Abandon all hope, ye who enter." And so those of us (and we were surpris­ ingly a large number) who had some religious training both in school and at home, whether Catholic, Protestant or Muslim, were impelled to turn to our religion for solace. We remem­ bered many prayers and phrases from the Bible, which were repeated over and over again during our moments of reflection, especially while tossing about on sleepless nights. Fortunately for me, I had been carrying my rosary with me, a habit which had been impressed upon me during my school years and by my wife, whose name is Rosario, and which I recited almost daily during those despondent days at O’Donnell. I was lucky that the Japanese guards and officers who searched us at frequent inter­ vals and confiscated anything they considered of value-—money, jewelry, etc contemptuously rejected such religious objects, which we fervently retained. Some of the more desperately sick prisoners could be heard to intone the Protestant hymn "Nearer My God to Thee." But in most instances, the Our Father, Hail Mary and even the Act of Contrition would be whispered barely audibly, as the despair­ ing men invoked Divine Providence as their last hope. As I men­ tioned previously about the bombing in Bataan, no truer words were ever spoken than the observation that "there are no atheists in the foxholes" because when man is faced with a hope­ less situation, he always turns to God. And so we managed, and our monotonous routine continued, with only a slight improvement in our health and spirits, because we had learned how to survive with the aid of our relatively youthful bodies and by leaning heavily on faith and spiritual support.

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Chapter 14

BILIBID PRISON

AS the month of June 1942 started and conditions more or less stabilized, our small group of interviewees was again called and informed that we would be released. It was with supreme relief and joy that we received the news, although we did not know exactly when and how and where we would be freed. When we were finally called together and loaded into a couple of trucks, we learned that our first destination would be Manila (where most of our homes and families were located). We were standing up in the truck throughout the whole long journey, but it did not seem so long nor arduous as we were full of hope and could see "the light at the end of the tunnel." We passed many towns where the people were trying to resume their disrupted lives. We saw many ruined buildings and burned homes and passed military vehicles bearing soldiers and equip­ ment going north or south, although we knew that the war was over and only sporadic guerrilla activity kept harassing the enemy. We noted that the people we passed were stern-looking and sometimes looked away lest they betray any sympathy or pity, because they knew we were prisoners and neither they nor we ourselves knew what was to be our immediate destination. We finally arrived in Manila which appeared quiet and almost normal in a listless sort of way, with the people also silent and almost sullen in their demeanor. However, instead of asking us where we lived or telling us where or how we would be released, the Japanese drove us to Bilibid Prison where we were curtly told we would be quartered. We were of course disappointed because it turned out to be just a transfer from one prison to another. However, we consoled ourselves that here conditions 83

were at least more bearable. It was a solid, sanitary structure where we were provided with real cots and beddings, had adequate toilet and bathing facilities, better food and in general we fared much better than at Capas. Here, despite our bitter disappointment at not being freed nor returned to our families, we tried to settle down and assess our chances and our future. Being in aprison of course meant that we were still under guard, with limited freedom of movement within the confines of our prison area. It was while at Bilibid that I came down with my first significant illness. During all the trying and perilous days and weeks of the Death March, in spite of cough and cold, because of my general health and my initial access to quinine and some sulfas, and careful husbanding of good water, I never came down with malaria nor dysentery. At Bilibid I came down with a, mild case of hepatitis. I was not actively sick, aside from general debility and avitaminosis. But I had jaundice, a slight fever and pain in the region of the liver. There was no medicine available and my affliction lasted almost the entire duration of our stay in Bilibid. The only thing that might have helped me was that I had been able to convince our guards to allow us to approach the gate and buy some peanuts from ambulant vendors. The peanuts I ate avidly (I have always been fond of peanuts) and used up my meager supply of money (most of which had already been sent to my family through the "Guava Detail") for this bit of luxury, which, with our still limited diet, may have helped to cure my hepatitis. As I have stated, I did not suffer anything except jaundice and mild pains, and so managed fairly well. The only after-effect was that it emphasized my prison pallor which was noted by my family upon our release. Afterwards, I reflected on the "definition of a gentleman" by an author whose name I cannot recall, when he described a gentleman as having experienced all of life’s vicissitudes, its ups and downs and braved all encounters, including a "stay in jail." So in this context, I fulfilled one of the unique requirements for being a gentleman, because not only was Capas a prison camp, 84

but certainly Bilibid was a famous prison for criminals and its official name was "Bureau of Prisons." So, being in "jail" com­ pleted my education as a "gentleman." Life in Bilibid was a big change and even a bit of a luxury compared to the horrors of Camp O’Donnell and we were con­ tent to enjoy it as long as it lasted. We had no further interviews, but we had no clear inkling as to what our fate was. It had long been rumored that we would be finally "released," but how and when still remained a big question mark. Apparently, the original plan of our captors was to "free" us in consideration of their evaluation of Filipinos as tomadachi or friends, just as all Asians were supposed to be friends and comrades as members of one big family under the protective cloak of Japan, our "mama-san." This was in contrast to their attitude and treatment of American, British or Australian nationals whom they labeled as "enemies," and who were never released. The military personnel were con­ fined at Cabanatuan or other concentration camps, and the civilians were concentrated in the buildings and grounds of the University of Santo Tomas in Manila. Our stay in Bilibid lasted about a month and it helped greatly in restoring some of our weight and strength, and uplift­ ing our spirits. We were not necessarily grateful to the Japanese, although the turnabout was a welcome and happy change. But we were alert and suspicious because their actions had always been unpredictable, and we knew they still harbored a certain amount of dislike (if not hatred) and perhaps disappointment that we had sided and fought with our Western "brothers." So we maintained a "watchful-waiting" attitude.

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Chapter 15

FREEDOM

FINALLY, in the first days of July, we were definitely informed of our early release, and told to prepare to leave and meet our families, who had been informed of our existence, our rela­ tively good health, and good attitudes as regards the war, our defeat and the present occupation of our country. Apparently this stratagem had been officially adopted by the High Com­ mand and there were scheduled releases of all prisoners surrendered or captured since the end of hostilities. The first release, principally from Camp O’Donnell where the majority of the prisoners had been concentrated, was scheduled for the first week of July. I believe that it was either the 3rd or 4th of July when we were ordered to gather our things (few as they were) and we were led to one of the side gates of Bilibid. There we bade our captors good-bye, thanked them for their fair treatment, especially at Bilibid, and were allowed to pass through the exit gate. I cannot overemphasize the intense joy that I experienced upon seeing and hugging my wife, my mother, my brother and sister who rushed to embrace me as soon as I appeared outside the gate of Bilibid. They, too, were overjoyed. They were surprised at my loss of weight, my pallor and my "bald head," but they were relieved that I was apparently in fair health. They had heard all kinds of rumors of what we had gone through, and had even been told that I had lost an arm or leg in the fighting or the Death March. My brother also remarked that they had heard that my release had been delayed because during the course of our interview, "I had refused to pledge allegiance to

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Japan" which apparently had been one of the conditions for release. I assured him that I had made no such refusal or commitment about my attitude to our captors, beyond a promise not to actively work or fight against the Japanese government. Our hearts and minds were overflowing with joy and gratitude and it is difficult to describe our feelings of deliverance, relief and happiness amidst our tearful reunion after so much that had transpired since we had seen and spoken to one another on that fateful day after Christmas in 1941 when I had set out for our rendezvous point at Far Eastern University where we had climbed into the waiting truck-convoy that took us to an uncertain destiny in Bataan. I had been married on 27 November, only 11 days before Pearl Harbor, and so we had hardly enjoyed the briefest honeymoon when the war started and we were placed on 24hour duty at the Army Hospital in Camp Murphy, which was later moved to a wing of the Quezon Institute. So, for the sake of greater unity and security, our family had moved into one of the spacious Perez-Samanillo houses along Oregon Street in Paco, and that was the address I had given to our Japanese captors, to which they had directed instructions about my release from Bilibid Prison. In the roomy garage of the house, we had stored our three cars: the family car, my brother’s and my own, but the cars could not be used as there was no gasoline obtainable, and personal travel was very strictly limited. Hence, for my "rescue" operation, my family had rented an old but sturdy carretela, and only four of them were able to ride to Bilibid, leaving room only for me for the return trip home. For the record, these were the occupants of our family home:

My father—Jaime C. de Veyra, former Cebu City councilor, first Filipino governor of Leyte, member of the First Philippine Assembly, member of the Philippine Commission (commissioner of Commerce and Police), Resident Commissioner representing the Spanish language newspaper, La Vanguard! a; head of the Spanish 87

Department of the University of the Philippines; "Academico de la Academia Filipina correspondiente a la Ileal Academia de la Lengua"; accredited writer in Spanish and acknowledged "Rizalist." (In 1961, when he was very old he was awarded an honorary doctorate by the Ateneo de Manila.) My mother—Sofia Reyes de Veyra, suffragist; long-time president of the National Federation of Women’s Clubs; head of the Domestic Science Department and vice-president of the Centro Escolar University; member of the Board of Pardons and of the Movie Review Board; woman leader and social worker. My wife—Rosario S. Avila, a Cebuana school teacher, who was in Manila at the time we met in 1941 while on vacation in Baguio, where I was a resident physician. She was among the first graduates of Fine Arts in UST under Prof. Victorio Edades. A holder of B.S.E. and M.A. degrees, she taught at the University of San Carlos in Cebu from 1949 to 1970, in the Colleges of Liberal Arts and Education. She was an associate professor and dean of women, and was an active member of civic and religious groups. Having retired from teaching, she is presently engaged in real estate development.

My brother—Jesus de Veyra, lawyer and later judge; professor of the law schools of Ateneo and San Beda; later dean of the College of Law of the Ateneo de Manila. He was also the legal counsel of the Yulo interests in Laguna Estates and Canlubang Motor Manufacturing. He was a recipient of the prestigious Frederick Ozanam Award, founded by the Ateneo de Manila to honor persons who have rendered distinctive and continued service to fellowmen according to justice and charity. My sister—Lourdes (later Mrs. Exequiel Sevilla'), long-time

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English teacher at the St. Scholastica and Assumption Colleges.

My youngest sister—Rosario, who entered the Order of Religious of the Assumption, teaching many years now at the Assumption College. My sister-in-law—Remedies Avila, Cebu-based, but stranded in Manila by the war. She stayed with us and worked in the government’s Federation of Food Processing and got to learn restaurant management. She has long since returned to Cebu where she oversees a family-run restaurant and sports club complex.

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Chapter 16

TAPS

WE bring to a close this personal account of those unforgettable and almost unbelievable experiences in Bataan, the Death March and the concentration of war prisoners at Camp O’Donnell in Capas, with the same military note of "First Call. . . Reveille" as the start of this painful saga. Wc end it with the sad notes of "Taps" to write "finis" to rest after a busy day of activity, or to find eternal peace after "we have crossed the bar." At this writing, nearly 50 years after Pearl Harbor and the Fall of Bataan, I am already 80 years old and there are few of us survivors of that era who are left. Only a handful of those youths who had volunteered "to fight the Japs" remain, with their thoughts and their memories. Like MacArthur, they are old soldiers who never die, they just fade away. But our children and our children’s children, must always remember and pause to reflect and pray for the eternal rest and vindication of those gallant ones who fought and suffered and died for their fatherland. It is true that we have erected monuments in Mount Samat in Bataan, the Route of the Death March, and the quiet grassland that marks Camp O’Donnell, and even other parts of the world, notably the United States, and we hope that those monuments will be a constant reminder of what they stood for. All Filipinos should remember those tumultuous years, those horrible memories, those needless sacrifices because that holocaust meant the survival of our country and the rekindling of our hopes and dreams for the restoration of our pride as a nation. The Fall of Bataan was a military defeat, but it was not a shameful exercise nor a prodigal misuse of manpower. It was a 90

moral victory. We are not advocating the celebration of a defeat, but a commemoration of a valiant and noble struggle against overwhelming odds. It was a triumph of patriotic fervor in defense of our country. There is a story of an American housewife, 57-year-old June B. Daniel of Los Angeles, California, who came to the Philippines to trace on foot the route of the infamous Death March from Mariveles in Bataan to Camp O’Donnell in Capas, resting over­ night in the towns along the route, and hoping to be joined by any old veterans who might have liked to make the trip with her. She said that she was retracing the route of the Death March in tribute to all freedom-fighters in the Philippines during World War II, and in memory of her two brothers who had died during the March. She made the journey wearing a uniform similar to what the soldiers had worn, and even eating what they had eaten (including rice and salt) and wearing a black band on her left arm. Mrs. Daniel was a writer. Her trip had been sponsored by the American Legion, Manila Post No. 464, based in Los Angeles. Ex-Congressman and army major Benito Soliven, father of journalist Max, was one of the gallant men of Bataan who sur­ vived its privations, the grueling Death March, only to die of malaria months after release. He wrote to his wife about Bataan:

I have seen the flower of Filipino manhood enter Bataan and after horrible months, the disillusioned and pitiable remnants, emaciated and bedraggled, march out in captivity, many of them dropping dead on the way. I plead, "Don’t for­ get Bataan."

It is unfortunate that in the midst of the world acclaim that had been accorded the Bataan saga, a jarring, discordant note arose from Japan. That country had been soundly defeated in the war, but because of the traditional resiliency and hardi­ ness of the Japanese spirit, it is now emerging as a world economic power. Its wartime concept of a hegemony of nations for a Greater Asia Co-prosperity Sphere, dominated and led by Japan, is now an economic reality and the Japanese are now 91

challenging their former enemies and former dominant Western powers for leadership. And in harmony with that euphoria comes a pride of national achievement and a sense of "revisionist history" from some of its present-day business leaders to justify Japan’s military stratagem in World War II. They have been accused and proven as the aggressors from their initial attack on Pearl Harbor through their rapid victorious campaign among the Southeast Asian nations till they reached the doorstep of Australia, where they were finally stopped by MacArthur’s hastily mounted Pacific defenses. Now a small group of Japanese, led by the Minister of Natural Land Agency, Sesuoko Vicuno, claims that "Japan was not the aggressor in World War II (world opinion notwithstanding), but acted in defense of the takeover by the white race of Asia as a colony." This jarring note, fortunately shared by only a few in­ dividuals, is a brazen attempt to change history and tailor it to their present position of world dominance in which their achievements are tainted with the perverted philosophy that the victorious can do no wrong. Max Soliven, journalist and publisher, wrote on Bataan Day, 1988, under the heading "Must the Glory Fade at Sunset?":

Bataan Day, which will be ignored today, should prick the conscience of both Filipinos and Americans. There is a modern tendency to sweep that three-month ordeal on the doomed Bataan peninsula under the rug . . . somehow we seem to have swallowed the decades-old argument that it is demeaning for a nation to commemorate its "defeats." True enough, we won the military triumph at Bataan. April 9, 1942 was the day our colors were furled in surrender and "a defeated army" began its cruel death march into captivity. In the jungles and foxholes of Bataan, we lost many of the best and brightest (and surely the bravest) of an entire generation . . . and we are suffering the sad aftershocks of that deprivation still. But was Bataan a disgrace and a defeat? Our boys fought on beyond the limits of human endurance . . . sick and 92

starving, disappointed by the betrayal of American promises of a "seven-mile relief convoy,” deserted by their leader, General MacArthur (who fled on orders from Washington to organize the defense of Australia).... Filipinos fired off their last bullets, tightened their ragged belts, determined to die in defense (not of the American flag but of their homeland). The real tragedy of Bataan is that we have repaid their sacrifice in the coin of scorn and ridicule, making it appear as though our fighting men were simply a force of "colonial mercenaries" resisting the Japanese for their American masters. A worthy and logical movement has recently been initiated to make more relevant and permanent the commemoration of Bataan Day. Several groups have banded together for this pur­ pose, and they include the government agencies, notably the tourism and defense departments and civic organizations in the private sector, with their first and major project, the celebration of Bataan’s 50th anniversary by public proclamations and programs, the refurbishing of monuments such as the "Dambana ng Kagitingan" on Mt. Samat in Bataan, the "A" shrine at Capas, and the marker at Camp O’Donnell, with general clean­ ing, painting and any needed repairs, plus improved landscap­ ing of their surroundings. All schools, both government and private, would be asked to conduct memorial services and programs, with the Church contributing its share in religious rites. And as a corollary but integral part of this program, govern­ ment agencies should cooperate in rendering full tribute and aid to all veterans, such as back pay, pensions, educational benefits and even citizenship. Both President Franklin Roosevelt and Harry Truman have been quoted as saying that Filipinos (and other foreigners who fought with the United States forces, like the USAFFE, and in Korea and Vietnam) having fought together under the Stars and Stripes, are fully entitled to American citizenship and other veterans’ benefits, if they so desire. Some of these gains may

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have been a little late in implementation, but should still be avail­ able, if not to the thinning ranks of the veterans themselves, then to their immediate offspring. Following this milestone celebra­ tion will be regular and official services which will hopefully assure that the story of Bataan will not be forgotten. Thus we end as we began. This is the story of Bataan as seen from a slightly different viewpoint: as its many ugly facets appeared to a medical man. That story is too big, has played too large a role in our annals, and must not now be cast into the garbage bin of history, then buried and forgotten. We began by saying that the Medical Corps had one mission: "To conserve manpower." We end by quoting a pertinent saying: "Our mission is to remember."

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Taken in 1950, on board steamship Dona Nati upon arrival of Dr. Manuel de Veyra from the U.S. He was there on a Fulbright grant for two years in Boston, Massachusetts. clockwise from right: Rosario, Teresa, Manny Jr., Rosario and Manuel de Veyra

r Two ranking U.S. generals at the outbreak of the Pacific war, Jonathan M. Wainwright and Douglas MacArthur, taken in 1941. "The Fall of the Philippines," by Louis Morton, Washington, 1953. p.66.

Death March Photo shows a portion of the long columns of Filipino prisoners who marched from Mariveles (Bataan) to San Fernando (Pampanga) after their surrender to thejapanese Imperial Forces on April 9,1942. Of the estimated 70,000 who started in Mariveles, about 10,000 died on the way to San Fernando due to illness, hunger, fatigue and exhaustion. (April 1942) Japanese Propaganda Corps

■ vz. < 1

American Prisoners

Shown are American POWs huddled with their Japanese captors after the fall of Corregidor. Scene could be the house where Gen. Homma agreed to meet with Gen. Wainwright. (May 1942) Japanese Propaganda Corps.

i I

'"I

Shown is the young CPR at a religious service held in Tacloban after the landing of American forces on the Leyte Beach. Also shown among others are President Osmefia (left), Gen. Basilio Valdes (middle!), and Ponciano Mathay (behind CPF). (October 1944) U.S Army File

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/

Corregidor: Pacific War Memorial

Photo taken of the shrine erected to honor tne USFIP defenders of the Second World War. (1976)

Photogra ph by Fra nk Alviz

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Afuang, Benjamin. "Bataan: 1967," Sunday Times Magazine, 9 April 1967.

Black, James. "Bataan and Corregidor." Text and research published by National Media Production Center. Produced by Philippine Tourism Authority, October 1980. Daroy, Bernardo J. "Hellfire on Corregidor," Sunday Times Magazine, 9 April 1967.

De Leon, Jose N. "Bataan Day," Philippine Star, 9 April 1989.

De Veyra, Manuel E. (Ed.). From The Caduceus, graduation souvenir program of Twelfth Class, Camp Murphy, Quezon City. 26 September 1941. Defenders of Bataan and Corregidor. "Men Fit to Be Free, Stand to Be Counted," 25th Bataan Day Program, 7-10 April 1967. Jabat, Juanito. "First Bataan Day Celebrated 35 Years Ago Today, 9 April 1989," Cebu Freeman.

Joaquin, Nick. "Bataan Was Hope," Philippine Daily Inquirer, 9 April 1988. Macatuno, Ernesto S. "Defeat and Disenchantment," Sunday Times Magazine, 9 April 1967.

Manchester, William. "An American Caesar," excerpts from Douglas MacArthur. Marcos, Ferdinand as President. "Defenders of Freedom and Peace," at dedication of Dambana ng Kagitingan, 9 April 1 S>67.

National Media Production Center. Dedication of Dambana ng Kagitingan and Battle of Battan, 9 April 1SX57 at Mt. Samat, Bataan. Nieva, Antonio. "Remembering Bataan and Corregidor," Starweek, 9 April 1989.

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Ongpauco, Col. Fidel (Army historian). Excerpts from They Refused to Die.

Ongpauco, Col. Fidel. "Capas Eyewitness," Sunday Times Magazine, 9 April 1967. From They Refused to Die. Paez, Eddie. "Tracing an Infamous March," Sunday Times Magazine. 10 April 1988. 3rd Memorial Death March Run.

Pena, Col. Ambrosio. "Bataan in Retrospect," "Bataan Campaign," "Bataan or Corregidor," "Essay on Bataan."

Pope, Jean. The Unprovided City. Romulo, Carlos P. / Saw the Fall of the Philippines. (Excerpts).

Solivcn, Max. "Must the Glory Fade at Sunset?" Philippine Star, 9 April 1988. Soliven, Max. "Remembering Bataan," Starweek, 5 April 1987.

Tupas, Rodolfo. "Bataan in the Glare of History," Sunday Times Magazine, 9 April 1967. Zapanta, P. A. "Bataan, 1942," Sunday Times Magazine, 9 April 1967. Zapanta, P. A. "Bataan, 1942," Sunday Times Magazine, 10 April 1988. Zapanta, P. A. "Bataan, 1942: Days of Hunger, Death, Calluses," Sunday Times Magazine, 5 April 1SX54.

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NEW DAY BOOKS ON WORLD WAR II

ALL THIS WAS BATAAN Silvestre Tagarao

CHICK PARSONS: AMERICA’S MASTER SPY IN THE PHILIPPINES Carlos Quirino

THE CIVIL LIBERTIES UNION STORY Hernando Abaya DOCTOR IN BATAAN Manuel E. de Veyra GOODBYE TO WINTER Sophie Schmidt-Rodolfo

THE HONEY, THE LOCUSTS Lina Espina-Moore

HOUSE OF IMAGES Mig A. Enriquez

THE KEMPEI TAI IN THE PHILIPPINES 1941-1945 Maria Felisa Syjuco SHADOWS FROM THE RISING SUN Paul R. Lindholm

SONG OF YVONNE Cecilia M. Brainard

TENACITY OF THE SPIRIT Thomas A. Bastian

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THE VOLCANO Bienvenido N. Santos THE WAINWRIGHT PAPERS (4 volumes) Celcdonio A. Ancheta WAR MEMOIRS OF THE ALCALA VETERANS Alberto T. Marquez

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