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In about
mid 1944 we three children had returned to Manila, the capital to
live with my mother and my stepfather.
We lived in
Ermita at 12 Plaza Ferguson. This is the place described in the book
"The Battle for Manila", where the authors state "The foulest
organized incident in modern warfare" occurred.
My mother
is an American, married to a Filipino. She and Europeans had to live
in the Ermita section of Manila. I mention this because many years
later I was told Japanese xenophobia was the reason they tried to
kill the lot of us. Except for me our group was so Caucasian that
this event could have occurred in Stalingrad.
I was
eleven years old at the time. That early Feb. '45 evening the
visible city surrounding our house was ablaze. Glowing bits of paper
were sailing like leaves against the orange-black sky. We left the
house and directly ahead of us on the plaza were hundreds of people.
Japanese troops were shouting and assembling the crew into some sort
of order. (They had passed the word that they were going to shelter
us because our city was afire)
As I
shuffled across the street my foot knocked over an inverted flower
pot. I knew this was a cover for an aerial bomb buried with the fuse
head up. We had watched the Japanese dynamiting holes to emplace
them. Civilians memorized these locations so we could warn the
American tankers. A Japanese soldier yelled "Kura" and shoved me
away. Had my heel struck the fuse you kids wouldn't be here. The Jap
was going to die anyway, sooner than later, I didn't. My sister
Nancy told me after reading my account that a man ahead of her did
step on a "land mine" and blew up a little ahead of her.
In the
plaza two thousand of us were being shoved around by soldiers. The
men to the left and women and children to the right. The Jap shoved
me to the left, my dad knowing something was going to happen pushed
me into the side with the women and children. Hey! I'm the kind of
guy who would have put on a dress and scarf on the Titanic. My dad
later said the men were walked to the
Manila hotel, and later taken out in groups of 30 and killed --
the human stack was baled with wire, gasoline thrown in followed by
a grenade. Subsequently I have read that this technique was used in
China. Not as efficient as the Nazis but not so impersonal.
Now we
women and children were driven down the walkway of the Bay View
Hotel each side of which was lined with soldiers -- fixed bayonets,
pointing to us, our frightened herd double timing to shouted orders
In the Bay
View Hotel, which had been used as a garrison and was empty of all
furniture we were shoved into rooms. Sat on the floor all night, the
American artillery continuously pounding against the outside walls.
The building shook, noise deafening, flashes of light all night. The
building stood thanks to pre-war American earthquake construction.
No food no
water. Drank toilet water, rationing out a few gulps a day. Then the
tanks ran dry. (come to think of it no one used the toilets, maybe
we were scared shitless}. My mother, who pretended to be crazy
complained to an officer so much, that he grabbed my 10 year old
sister and me. Handed buckets and accompanied by a soldier, ran to
the Manila Hotel swimming pool. Filled the buckets. The shelling was
deadly. When it got too close the three of us would duck into a
Japanese bunker. I remember soldiers sitting there, they would look
up startled at the two children and then when the soldier entered it
seemed to me they were bemused. I don't think his presence saved
them from us, but I know it saved us from them. By then the lulls in
the American shelling were predictable. I don't know why but we
could count on an absolute cessation of fire after a heavy barrage.
With each lull we darted towards the Bay View.
Not all
rooms were unfurnished, the Japanese officer in charge had a nicely
furnished room, great furniture, food, drink and his mistress, Nadja.
Nadja was a White Russian
woman who lived near us. We passed by their pad on
one occasion, she saw us and being a friend invited my mother and
her three children to stay with them. My mother declined this kind
invitation. Again the Gods were with us, because this act saved our
lives. My dad told us that when the Americans got close the
survivors of the Manila Hotel massacres ran towards the lines. Nadja
lay shot on the ground. Alive and begging for help. The men ran
around her, no one stopped. Probably wasn't anything they could have
done even if they had been so inclined. Her beau had shot her as he
took off for his last Banzai.
All along I
knew that these murderous bastards were going to fight and die to
the last man. They were determined that none of us would live to
enjoy it. My personal opinion is that the Filipinos had been a great
disappointment to them. Sure there were the usual traitors and
collaborators seen in any war, but the puppet government never
raised an army to join the "Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere"
to fight against the Americans.
Overall
guerrillas and graffiti fought against them during the occupation.
The former were constrained, because anytime a Japanese was killed,
innocent civilians were executed in retaliation. This made it most
difficult to support guerrilla activity. The puppets ran civil
affairs only and were later pardoned by my dad's uncle, Elpedio
Quirino, when he became president of the Republic. A remarkably good
deed for a man whose family, including a two year old who was thrown
in the air and impaled on a bayonet by a skillful Jap, were directly
attacked because he would not collaborate during the occupation. It
was preferable during the occupation to have a civil government than
direct Japanese martial rule. In other words there were no
Quislings or
Lavals.
A twist of
fate. Our family was going to hole up at uncle's house, where we had
hoarded salt pork and water, but didn't make it there. My mother
told me that uncle called and said the streets were too dangerous
for us to hazard the trip. I know that the reason we did not go was
because one of our servants had come over, we gave him food for his
family. He opened the front door, took a few steps and was shot
dead. We tried to re-open the door to pull him in. Our attempt
brought a hail of bullets. I tried to peek out a second story window
to see if he was alive. A few bullets through the window had me on
my belly.
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