CHAPTER FIVE

Chapter V

As we rolled back into Bilibid, it seemed as if we were returning home. Even through war experiences there were mostly unpleasant, thirty- five years later I can close my eyes and see every detail of every building in the compound.

This time there was quite a bit of change in the Japanese guards. No longer were we slapped around for not bowing to them, but we even began to see an occasional gold toothed grin. This change of attitude plus underground rumors, convinced us that Americans were on their way. We still saw an occasional American plane, but otherwise things began to settle back into the old routine.

I think one of the most amazing things that I can remember is the old naval Chief Petty Officer and the old Master Sergeant who sat and watched the kitchen all day. The cooking was done in the open with only a covered top and open on all sides. The Japanese allowed the cooks to use two dippers to serve with. One was known as the “big dipper,” and the other one the “little dipper.” The old Master Sergeant would say, “Well, it looks like the big dipper tonight.” And the Chief would say, “Naw, it’s the little dipper,”. They would argue until mealtime about what size dipper they were going to sue. At that time there seemed to be nothing unusual about two old service men, covered with tattoos, sitting around exchanging menus.

Rumors persisted that Americans had landed in Southern Luzan. We heard that a company of rangers had gone in behind the Japanese lines and brought out the prisoners still left in Cabanatuan. Two or three days later we were assembled with the Japanese. The Japanese Major in charge of the camp informed us tha they were ebing assigned duties elsewhere and that they appreciated our cooperation since we had been their prisoners. They left us the key to the rice storage house and advised us not to leave the prison until we were contacted by American military.

That night the streets surrounding our prison seemed to be alive with tanks and the sound of war. The next day everything was so quiet that we began to wonder what had happened. Some of us were sitting on the grass not far from a boarded window in the prison wall when we heard a voice, “Hey, who’s in there?” Man, was that a good sound! We all shouted back in unison. They beat the boards off from outside. The uniforms had changed; the rifles had changed; they looked like men from Mars, but, they sure looked good.

They came in and immediately took off their packs and began to pull out rations. One of them gave me a small can of bacon grease, and I carried it back to my building thinking I would put it on my rice that evening. It still hadn’t occurred to me that I no longer had to eat rice. Field kitchens were immediately set up in the prison compound and cooks assigned twenty- four hours a day with orders to cook not only what we wanted but as much as we wanted. It was unbelievable what some of us managed to put away.

I was sitting at the field kitchen when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and I couldn’t believe my eyes. Before the war I had a Philippino who shined my shoes and pressed my uniform and did anything that I might ask him to do; and when the war started, somewhere along the line Jose’ and I became separated. Here he was as if the last three years had never been. He told me that during the war the Japanese had killed his wife and children. We heard that the Americans were bringing Japanese prisoners into the compound next door to the one we were in, and I asked Jose’ to go with me to see them. While going over Jose’ explained to me that helped me to realize why the Japanese soldiers seemed to fight with a suicidal verocity. When the Americans liberated us, they also liberated about a hundred Japanese who were being held prisoner as punishment for being captured. As we entered the other compound, a truckload of Japanese prisoners were being brought in. I don’t think I have ever seen a more ragged, bloodier group broken arms, head wounds, broken noses and numerous other wounds. As I was looking them over, I was thinking, “Oh yea, you dirty slobs, now you know how it feels.” I heard someone beside me say, “Poor devils.” I turned and looked at Jose’. He suddenly had taken on stature. Instead of the “houseboy” he was a forty-five year old adult who was showing me what true compassion really was I looked back at the Japanese prisoners, and all I could see was the pathetic site of beaten men. My mind went back to the beginning of our capture when a Japanese Major strutted up and down in front of a group of wounded American prisoners, and I hated him for it. Here I was doing the same thing that he had done.

We were confined to Bilibid proper for three days because the fighting within the city was so intense that it was not safe. The Japanese were fighting from building to building. One night we were awakened quite late and loaded into trucks and carried just outside the city. In the early morning we were loaded back up and moved into Bilibid. While interrogating a Japanese prisoner, they learned that the sewer system in the prison had been heavily mined, and that evidently the Japanese were waiting until theyfound a concentration of American troops in there before setting them off. They got us out, and with the help of the prisoners had picked up all the mines. This story was never authenticated but having no other explanation, we accepted it as true.

I suppose that according to most everyone one of the most outstanding experience that we should have had been when we stood at the foot of our sleeping pads and shok McArthur’s hand. It would have been, had it no been for the fact that he was surrounded with about ten guys with automatic rifles; and his famous “return” was filmed with him wading ashore smoking his corncob pipe three days after the beach head and not a Jap within a hundred miles. Part of us were flown to the Island Leyte where a camps was being maintained. It was at this camp that we were finally issued new clothing, new shoes and supplies that made us feel like we were again part of itall. During the few days that we remained in this camp, we began to adjust to having what we wanted to eat and to complete freedom. We were near the village of Tacloban where we spent many hours for no other reason except that we knew we could. After about a week there were twenty-four of us selected, all being amputees or severely handicapped as I was with a stiff leg. We were loaded on an old converted C-47 and started on a long trip back home. As I watched the islands fade away through the glass, I could not help but think, “Mabuhay and Republica Filipinas”, long live the Republic of the Philippines. About a thousand miles away from land, at a point of no return, one of our engines began to cough. Since all of us were afraid we would step off the plane and break our necks before we got home even without this engine trouble, the nurse went around and gave us all a shot. The pilot proved worthy of his responsibilities and after an overnight stop on some island, we glided smoothly down to a landing in San Francisco, California.