The picture above is of my sister. I have never met her. She does not know I exist. It is a picture that my father cherished until his death. She was born to him and his Filipina girlfriend in October/ Nov 1941, just prior to the start of hostilities in the Philippines. At the time of the bombing of Manila, my father was going through the necessary red tape to marry this Filipina. When the 31st Infantry moved out, it was the last he saw of his intended wife. During his captivity in Cabanatuan, not that far from Manila and unknown to him of course, she was raped and murdered by the Japanese. His daughter was rescued by the Catholic Church and put into their orphanage.
Her name was Angela. Soon afterwards, a Filipino doctor in Manila by the name of Augusto Cortez and his American wife, adopted Angela. My father was still destined at this time for a ride in the Hellship Nissyo Maru and an apprenticeship as a coal miner in a Japanese coal mine not far from Nagasaki. Its designation was Keisen #23. At this point, my father had seen and experienced so many unspeakable acts of cruelty and barbarism and enough tragedies for 20 lifetimes. More were yet to come.