War is a Series of Catastrophies that ends in a Victory

My Move to Bataan

2012-01-19T13:06:00.000-08:00

After years of researching our fathers who fought in the Philippines in WWII from my comfortable surroundings here in California, I am making a permanent move to Limay, Bataan in the Philippines. Limay is a few miles north of Mariveles and the site for Hospital #1 during the battle for Bataan and the site for the main Quartermaster dump for our forces.
I visited the Philippines for the first time in November, 2011. My tour guide was Edna Bautista Binkowski, a resident of Limay, who has in depth knowledge of the history of all the engagements with the enemy and knows the terrain as only a native of Bataan would know. She is the author of a book about an American woman by the name of Claire Phillips who did much to aide our POW's in Cabanatuan and suffered for her deeds at the hands of the Japanese. The book is Titled "Code Name Highpockets". I have the greatest admiration and respect for her abilities and knowledge and can heartily recommend her should you wish to tour the areas of interest in the Philippines.
As for myself, one can only do so much from California. To be living in Bataan is more than a dream come true. I visited in November, 2011 and discovered the mystery which my father tried to imbue in me with his stories when I was a child and teenager. I never understood his attraction to the Philippines until last November. Nothing I can describe to you in this blog will provide you with the epiphany I underwent while there. You must visit, you must engage the culture and the people to understand the draw of the Philippines.

For me it included meeting Edna Binkowski's sister, Rosalie, who I intend to marry, yet I was already hooked before Rosalie came into the picture. I was in the Philippines for two weeks and did not want to leave. It has a powerful effect on anyone who tours there. As of February 6th, 2012, i will be a resident of Limay, Bataan and if you visit, please let me know at roberthudson@alyricman.com . I would be happy to assist you in any way.

Robert

Thinking out loud

2011-10-29T13:51:00.000-07:00

We humans are a varied lot. We perceive matters differently. Ask any 10 witnesses to an incident what they saw and you will receive 10 different accounts. We also react differently to stimulus. This is not a bad thing. All of us are unique and wired differently. We are the sum of our experiences from birth to the present. No two human experiences are exactly the same, therefore we can only perceive certain similarities in others and ourselves.

When I give thought to military prisoners of the Japanese after the collapse of the Philippines whom I have met, including my father, I find they neatly fit into three categories. First are the the men who do not talk at all, do not attend conventions, nor want anything to do with those that do.They go to the grave taking their demons with them.
The second group are those who reluctantly speak about the horrors they witnessed. Alcohol tends to lubricate their hesitancy and they'll recount some stories which often end in an emotional shutdown. They tend to tell what they consider funny stories which occurred during their saga and relieves their tension somewhat.
The third group are those that have managed in some way to isolate their emotions from their experiences and are the ones who have written books, magazine articles and are willing to share of themselves during panel discussions and question and answer periods afterward. They have educated us about the battle and imprisonment with first hand accounts. This does not mean that these men do not have emotional periods but they are better suited to contain their memories and keep them leashed.
There is a forth group but their numbers are so small that in my opinion, they do not constitute a group. These men vanished early after repatriation for the most part. They could not take flight from their memories. They were engulfed and drowning in the misery of their past. The human ugliness of the enemy and even among their own ranks was too much to bear. Death for them had become so commonplace that life had little meaning other than a prolongation of suffering. These men in various ways ended their existence.

Personally, my father fit into group two. I could not question him about the war unless he was somewhat intoxicated. This was the only time he could speak of the human drama in war. Seeing his comrades explode into pieces of bloody composition, holding a young soldier in his arms and comforting him as he died, watching his friends and buddies slowly die of starvation and disease and to be absolutely helpless to do anything about it. This was his hell and he could tolerate his thoughts for so long even with the alcohol.
When sober and questioned, his only stories were those funny episodes, for example, how he caught the camp commandants dog and he and his buddies killed. cooked and ate it. All the time telling the story with a short stuttering laugh as though trying to choke back sobs.
At the 2010 convention of the American Defenders of Bataan and Corregidor held by the Descendants Group in Reno, Nevada, I asked Ben Steele, a well known pow, to tell me about a funny experience he had as a prisoner. His answer gave me some insight into how bad his experience must have been to consider what he told me was "funny".
He began his funny story as he was descending a ladder in to the Hellship, Canadian Inventor, on Pier 7 in Manila. As he was descending slowly, the pow above him coming down the ladder must have had dysentery and couldn't hold his bowels and let go all over Ben's head and shoulders. Ben said, "you know Bob, I had no cloth or towel or water to wipe the excrement off my head and shoulders. I had to sit in the hold of that ship for hours and wait until it dried and then peeled it off myself". He then chuckled. I found myself crying, knowing that I would never understand the humor in his experience. I would never understand how bad the situation was that he considered this humorous.

I cannot conceive of surviving such a circumstance. These men, no matter what group they fit into, survived an indescribable experience. All the books by and about pow's can never more circle the rim of their experiences. Even these men who sit in small rooms and speak of their ordeals, struggle to find the adjectives, as they have those thousand yard stares on their faces and search the past in their minds eye.
Who are we to kid ourselves that we will ever understand the totality of their encounter with the mindlessness and ugliness of mans destructive nature. We worry too much about an asteroid striking and destroying the Earth and not enough about our nature striking and destroying the Earth. This will be our undoing. We need to keep this in mind and teach our children its lessons.

Robert Hudson 10/29/2011

Images of General Jonathon Wainwright

2011-02-01T19:09:00.000-08:00

General Jonathon Mayhew Wainwright (Skinny)

Wainwright and Truman White house Lawn About the recieve
the Medal of Honor

Wainwright at a ceremony after Liberation

Wainwright and LaGuardia in New York 1945

Wainwright and Chaing Kai Shek in China
shortly after Liberation

Recent uncovered photos

2010-11-06T08:48:00.000-07:00

MacArthur and Hirohito in 1945

Hirohito speaking to Japanese Diet

Liberated Generals seated / L to R Generals Lough, Brougher, Jones, Sharp, King, Moore, Bluemel, and Weaver
Photo says their first meal after liberation in Manila but most likely taken in Okinawa.

Japs attacking Stuart Tank in the Philippines

More Period Photos

2010-08-18T15:16:00.000-07:00

Japanese soldiers occupy Mariveles April, 1942

Japanese soldier eyes American propaganda billboard in Manila

4th Marine Sgt. shows Filipinos how to operate Lewis Machine Gun

B24 that made it safely to Australia from the Philippines

Boyd (Buzz) Wagner Commander- 17th Pursuit Squadron KIA 12/17/1941

Memorial Day Tribute to those fallen and those still rooted to this world / 2010

2010-05-31T21:11:00.000-07:00

I have tried on many occasions on this blog to detail the trials of the many thousands of Philippine veterans. I have spilled thousands of words onto this medium in an effort to give a sense to those unfamiliar with the conflict, the human drama endured by our forces.
If there is anything to be learned by you and by me, it is that words can only narrate suffering. Words have not the power to reach or describe the psychological intensity or the horror stained on the retinas of those who witnessed such horrible atrocities, and adjectives do not exist to describe them.
As hard as I have tried, I have learned that only by experiencing what our men endured can one understand the nature of their being, and that will not happen. These men understand each other and as they sit on panels at conventions attempting to convey their experiences to us, they also fail.
These men are in a realm of their own. They can no more describe their ordeal than they can describe Heaven. Poets come close but they miss the mark as well. Battles can be portrayed, suffering can be detailed, torture can be recounted, deaths can be illustrated, fear expressed and the gamut of emotions outlined, but nothing in our existence ties them all together. We become word scientists looking for a unified theory of expression. I am not sure that it will ever happen.
All we are capable of is to listen to these men, honor them, hold them close to our hearts and thank them every chance we have for what they have given us. We have need to thank God for giving us such men when we most needed them and thank them for the freedom to choose our God.
Robert Hudson 5/31/2010

General William E Brougher

2010-04-22T18:46:00.000-07:00

At the last ADBC convention in Reno this past April,2010, I donated an autographed copy of General Broughers book of Poetry titled "The Long Dark Road". It was extremely difficult to part with but I am happy that it was auctioned for the price I had asked for. Just a few days ago, a lady who's first name is Morgan posted a comment on this blog. Apparently she was googling her grandfathers name, General William E Brougher, and came across my blog. She was thrilled to see a poem written by him called "Ned King of Bataan". We have been communicating now and she has given me permission to post some family photos of the General. I believe that she was unaware that an organization such as the ADBC existed and that conventions have been ongoing for many years. I have been talking to her about attending next years convention in Pittsburgh and she is very interested. Please enjoy these mostly unpublished photos of the general and his family.

Brougher prior to his capture 1942

General Brougher Commander 11th U.S. Division

)

Broughers welcome home party after repatriation

Wife / Frances Brougher (Deceased

The General and wife Frances in later years

Drawing by Fred Wren - Life Magazine February 7th, 1944 - Bataan Death March Portrayal

2010-03-18T07:01:00.000-07:00

YOUNG DEAD SOLDIERS CIRCA 1941 - ARCHIBALD MCLEISH 1892-1982

2010-03-18T01:53:00.000-07:00

THE YOUNG NO LONGER SPEAK:

THEY HAVE A SILENCE THAT SPEAKS FOR THEM AT NIGHT.

THEY SAY: WE WERE YOUNG, REMEMBER US.

THEY SAY: WE HAVE DONE WHAT WE COULD, BUT UNTIL IS IS FINISHED, IT IS NOT DONE.

THEY SAY: OUR DEATHS ARE NOT OURS, THEY ARE YOURS; THEY WILL MEAN WHAT YOU MAKE THEM.

THEY SAY: WHETHER OURS LIVES AND OUR DEATHS WERE FOR PEACE AND A NEW HOPE,

WE CANNOT SAY, IT IS YOU WHO MUST SAY THIS.

THEY SAY, WE LEAVE YOU OUR DEATHS.

GIVE THEM THEIR MEANING.

Recently discovered photos

2010-01-24T16:21:00.000-08:00

Leaflet dropped on Mindanao

Lts. Raymond Sloan and Allen Strauss from the 17th Pursuit Squadron. Sloan was killed when his area was over run by the Japanese positions
Generals Wainwright & Percival after repatriation

Lt Dyess on March 10, 1942 after a raid on Jap positions

Generals Wainwright and Percival after release

P-35's destroyed at Nichols Field

Beginning of the Death March

Japanese interrogating American POW's on Corregidor

Americans captured on Kiska Island

Col. Hugh Straughn, an American Guerrilla being interrogated
He was later beheaded by the Kempetai at the Chinese Cemetery
in Manila 11/1/1943

Japanese Navy Soldier guarding POW's at Wake Island

Wainwright surrendering Corregidor

The fortunate few / MacArthur and Staff back on Corregidor

At left / Cruel and inhuman propaganda leaflet dropped on Bataan positions in early 1942. Were these measures really necessary?

Yamashita in Manila after the surrender.

My thoughts and tribute to the men on the Bataan Death March

2009-12-22T06:24:00.000-08:00

Thoughts about the Bataan Death March – December 2009

Over the years, I have taken notes after listening to and asking questions of ex POWs with whom I have had the fortune, pleasure and honor of interviewing. Having read many books and individual stories, I wish to express some of my thoughts before I die for my sons and for public consumption. This piece is intended for those who share intense interest in my personal hero’s, the men who fought in the Philippines during World War Two.
The one thing that has always stuck in my mind was something a Bataan veteran once told me, and that was he never got over how “Death transforms a man’s face into a stone mask”. The body which clothes the spirit, that moves with grace and boldness, that knows love, that is apt for self sacrifice is gone and that which animated it has disappeared. For the first time, many of our soldiers came to see that when a man dies, an unknown world passes away. The hard bone of his skull was in a sense, a treasure chest. The thoughts, the loves, the memories, the wisdom and the man are lost for eternity. Each death was in itself, a substantial loss, a veritable world consigned to oblivion.
The mind can become disoriented when overwhelmed with the outright indescribable inhumanity and the fear that accompanies the possibility of being led to your death by an enemy who's savage morality is well known. To watch other men die for the simple need of a drink of water, to be denied rest when they are weary or sick, or to not receive a small bit of nourishment when one is starving is beyond the comprehension of a civilized man. The war against Japan changed the lives of our soldiers, their thoughts, their actions, their hopes, ambitions, regrets and remorse. Our men did the best they could amid the turmoil of their hopes and of their disappointments. They did all they could within the limits of their power. They had unknowingly become the principle characters in a drama which was far greater and more moving than anything they could have ever imagined.
Respect for the dignity of men was being trampled underfoot in this new war against the Japanese. Americans and anyone standing in the way became crushed beneath the contempt of the Japanese. We were fighting a culture that was a thousand years behind the times. There is no doubt that the Japanese disfigured the face of humanity and that the Japanese were blinded by ambition before they were enlightened by a war against us.
I do not know how to convey the experience of our POWs except by piling one adjective on top of another so that in the end I convey no impression of horror at all, but only that of an embarrassing sense of exaggeration. What can I say except that our soldiers were caught in a universe that was not theirs? They became a sacrifice to events bearing down on them.
When the kill or be killed aspect of battle ends, one expects that conditions will improve. Men learn that once they are caught up in an event, they cease to be afraid. Only the unknown frightens men. But once a man faces the unknown, that terror then becomes the known. After the surrender, the terror of battle had transformed from the unknown to the known, now they were back to the unknown. It was a vicious circle.
When resistance ended, each man had to find in himself, the courage to alone face the coming sadism of the Japanese forces. They became separated from all that was dear and familiar to them. Our troops were soon to find out that fate contemplates with equal indifference. Each prisoner eventually came to understand that their life or death depended on the degree of will in their makeup and of course, the daily moods and decisions of their captors. The slightest mistake or misjudgment could become deadly.

Cruelty takes two forms; one is to do something to a man, the other is not to do something for a man. For the men on Bataan, the experiences of both were to be learned immediately. One cannot directly blame the Japanese for the lack of food or medical attention during the battle. Nor can we directly blame the Japanese for the indigenous diseases that took their toll on our troops. The men who began the Death March were in pretty bad shape due in part to the dreadful logistical problems which left thousands of tons of food sitting in warehouses in and around Manila. Much needed medical supplies were left behind as well as armaments. One can only imagine how much better shape our men would have been in at the beginning of the Death March had they been adequately fed and cared for medically during the campaign.

After the surrender, the entrance to a long dark tunnel engulfed the legions of tired, hungry, dirty and worried men. It was a tunnel that many would never escape and many would not see the light at the other end for years to come. Each man was fearful of the unknown which lay ahead, some ashamed of surrender and some simply stunned beyond the point of understanding their situation. They believed that they had been through hell yet they would come to discover that what they had endured was only the trip to hell. Hell is what was awaiting them.

As the March began, for many it seemed that for the first time since they were born, their lives were in their own hands and that they were responsible for it. A quiet aftermath often follows great disasters when destiny has spent its force. This is how the March began. Each man had to plow his own lonely furrow. In columns of one to three hundred, men began to trudge north to an unknown destination. The rules of the March still unknown to the vanquished and to the victors. Each man, now a prisoner of war, no longer free, had to take measure of what strength he had left to him, to contain his fears and find some way to survive what lay ahead. It was hot, humid and dusty. They were all hungry but they had been hungry for months now and hunger was familiar to them.
The cruelty began prior to the March when men, who were discovered to have items apparently taken off dead Japanese soldiers, were taken off and shot, bayoneted or decapitated. The weakest or sickest POWs were to become examples to the rest soon after the March commenced. April being one of the hottest months in the Philippines, the heat was difficult to tolerate even with an adequate water supply. Holding off the Japanese for 99 days was beneficial to America’s preparedness and eventually in defending Australia and arming itself to go on the offensive, however, that delay was proven to be catastrophic to many on the March because of the time of year.
Men soon began to become captive to the curt dictatorship of thirst, sending some close to touching the very bottom of despair. When thirst becomes excessive, the body begins first by reducing the saliva in the mouth. After a day or two, men were saying that their tongues were so dry that their tongues were becoming a nuisance. With time, men were suffering less from thirst than from the effects of thirst. The loss of salts shed during sweating causes cramps. When water loss is excessive, sweating ceases and the body conserves fluids for the organs and bloodstream. The temperature within the body rises causing the brains thought processes to go awry. Men become delusional, confused and some say bordering on insanity at its worst.
There is no sense in retelling what happened to men who fell out of line, succumbed to their demented condition and received the ultimate punishment for a simple taste of water. There were many who still in a lucid state of mind, chose to risk death because of the basic instinctual craving for water. Better to be killed outright than die of thirst when water is everywhere and plentiful. It is one thing to suffer from extreme thirst in a dry environment when water is unavailable but the temptation to drink becomes overwhelming when water is readily available and visible. The March became something which prompted our men to an effort beyond their capacity. It was necessary to control their instincts. It was the only way to survive.

What is there in life beyond trying? Can any man who made the March say that he did not revolve around doubt and certainty when it came to his survival? What does a man think about in this situation? First and foremost was how am I going to survive what lies ahead? Do I have the capacity to withstand the poor condition I am in and the barbarically callous treatment I am receiving from my captors? The needs of the body are at the top of the list. Food, water and when will we rest? The mind is troubled by thoughts of home and family. Concern for what your family is going through with the news of the surrender. Ultimately thoughts return to the moment by moment action needed to keep moving. What saves a man is to take a step, then another step. It is always the same step but you have to take it. You are conscious of each foot hitting the ground but the feeling in your feet is gone. Your legs become appendages below your body that somehow move by themselves. You know from the example of others that to stop is to die and you must keep putting one foot in front of the other. More than anything, survival is movement. Each man kept moving quietly, lost in his own thoughts.

Men lived through that inordinate expectancy which like a fatal malady grows from minute to minute, harder to bear. A human is a construction of mind and body. If either fails they both die. Seeing hundreds of dead bodies along the road and witnessing the murder of many others was a visual motivation to keep moving. Most men began to shorten their goals as the March progressed. Initially each soldier speculated on his chances to make it to wherever they were being marched to. When the fatigue, thirst and whatever Petri dish variety of organism was decimating their health, each man began to shorten his goals. Just making it to the end of the day was typical. Then making it to the next rise, the next village or crossroad and finally counting steps. Some reported that they were just trying to go another thousand steps and eventually a hundred steps at a time. This seemed to be a more manageable goal.

Horror causes men to clench their fists and in horror men join together. This was something universal among the Marchers. Fear began to be replaced with a hatred so strong that it was difficult to contain. Hatred seemed to tap into a reserve of strength in many men. It focused their attention outwardly from their inner concerns. The horrors they were witnessing along the March were outrageous. What they were experiencing was collapsing the scaffolding of their traditions and their reality. It was a living nightmare. Tired, hungry, thirsty, sick, helpless, hopeless, fearful, enraged and confused. How does a human endure the physical deterioration and the psychological trauma of this tortuous journey?

In the midst of this misery men were aiding and assisting those who were too weak to continue. Friends, acquaintances, and just plain fellow soldiers were asking or pleading for help. Those on the March could tell when one of their numbers was nearing the end of his rope. The eyes said everything. When hope is exhausted and willpower is depleted, it shows in a mans eyes. That spark in a mans eyes and the look on his face that tell you someone is home, disappears and one knows that this man is spent and his flesh moves without purpose or thought. At this point each of these souls would give up his morsel of eternity and fall out of line and wait for the ultimate disciplinary action from their foes. Men did what they could for others until they felt they were dangerously close to losing their own lives. What a heart breaking decision it was to let go of a comrade when your strength was giving out. The guilt of that decision was a lifelong burden. Men were still tearful decades later when speaking about it. To survive is an instinct almost impossible to overcome. The grief felt in the ten to twelve days of the Death March was immeasurable.

Can one imagine the efforts that were made and the disappointments they encountered when they sought some way to relieve their suffering? I offer no exaggerated praise of simple virtues. It is incomprehensible to me how many POWs on the March actually survived. These men who came from rural and urban areas across America were typically post teenage boys looking for excitement and adventure. They had been brought up in a culture that respected human life and family values. A lot of them had a relatively soft life compared to the lives of those whose country they were in and the enemy they had been fighting. They had become battle hardened in a short span of time. In their wildest dreams, they could not have dreamt of the agonizing ordeal they were in the midst of. Yet of the twelve thousand Americans who began the March, some eleven thousand four hundred made it to Camp O’Donnell. That cannot be said of the Filipinos. The Japanese showed an insatiable ferocity toward the Filipinos and rained hell upon their numbers. Of the sixty two to sixty three thousand Filipino soldiers who began the March, some ten to eleven thousand died at the hands of the Japanese or from disease, malnutrition or thirst. Life is an incomparable privilege. A lesson learned by most if not all surviving POWs. Hope remains the one constant among POWs. Hope can only be extinguished with our lives. It is the one single thing that makes life bearable and the reason we exist today as survivors and descendants.

The POW’s lost many of their friends and eventually they understood that they shall never again hear the laughter of their friend and at that moment begins their true mourning, which, though it may not be rending, is yet a little bitter. Nothing, in truth, can replace that companion. Old friends cannot be created out of hand. Nothing can match the treasure of common memories, of trials endured together, of quarrels and reconciliations and living emotions. It is idle to think that having planted an acorn in the morning, to expect that afternoon to sit in the shade of the oak. So life goes on. For years we plant the seed, we feel ourselves rich; and then comes the enemy who does his work and makes our plantation sparse and thin. One by one our companions slip away and deprive us of their shade. A companion to whom one is bound to forever by ordeals suffered in common. We must not forget that there is no hope of joy except in human relations.
It is here that they learn that men who possess nothing in the world but their memories, share invisible riches. Men travel side by side for years locked up in their own silence or exchanging words which carry no freight—till danger comes. Then they stand shoulder to shoulder. They discover that they belong to the same family. They wax and bloom in the recognition of fellow beings.
They look at one another and smile. Happiness, it is useless to seek it elsewhere than in this warmth of human relations. Our sordid interests imprison us within their sordid walls. Only a friend can grasp us by the hand and haul us free. These human relations must be created. One must go through an apprenticeship to learn the job. When we exchange manly handshakes, compete in races, join together to save one of us who is in trouble, cry aloud for help in an hour of danger—only then do we learn that we are not alone on Earth. Each man must look to himself to teach him the meaning of life. It is not something discovered; it is something molded.

Death is the last leap of human sensation and carries us beyond the bounds of our destiny. We give thanks to those who beyond all odds survived the first step into hell and we mourn those who despite their best efforts, succumbed to the elements of the base behavior of their enemy. These men had withstood the many buffetings of life as a POW. Too well we know man’s failings, his cowardice and lapses, and our writers of today are only too proficient in exposing these; but we stand in need of one to tell us how a man may be lifted above himself by sheer force of will. This is the real story of Bataan. All of these men who survived were the authors of their own miracles. Those who perished, perished not from any deficiency in their makeup but from the ravages of war that kill the strongest with the weakest, the brave and the cowardly alike. These men said little of their trials when they came home. Heroes are like that. They were rough men of few words. When they were questioned, they just shrugged their shoulders. They just didn’t think we could understand what they had endured. It was in their silence that one discovers the true meaning of courage. They had nothing to say because that is not where courage lies. Courage lies in their choice. Any survivor of this tragic story will tell you that the ones who did not return to their home and families are the true heroes. To us there is no difference. There is only pride and tears.
In the last seven days prior to the surrender on Bataan, there were 150 non combat related deaths a day. In the first month at Cabanatuan there were 1300 Bataan deaths compared to 37 deaths of Corregidor men which goes to show how bad a shape Bataan men were in from 99 days of fighting in the open jungle at half rations, then quarter, one eighth and finally one sixteenth rations. Six months after the surrender of Bataan, over 50% of Bataan combatants were dead. Of the 25,600 American POWs captured by the Japanese, 5,135 died in captivity in the Philippines, 3,840 died on Hellships, 1,200 died in Japanese prison camps, 175 died in Manchuria, 130 in Burma, 100 on Wake Island and 70 in Korea, for a total of 10,560. A 41.6% death rate. A recent book on POW ships by historian Gregory F. Michino lists a total of 156 voyages made by 134 ships from 1942-1945, which resulted in the transportation of 126,064 POWs from several nations and in the death of 21,039 of them.

Did the hostilities end with the surrender on Bataan? The carnage of our men ended on August 15th 1945 after two bright flashes of light had suddenly awakened the Empire of Japan from their dream of conquest. The thread of hope remaining in our men was at its thinnest point at war’s end. Sadly, many of them died after news of the surrender but in their last moments, they were graced with the gift of being free men again, a goal they had set for themselves so many months before.

The time for recriminations and requests for apologies has long since past. What was done was done and efforts should be directed toward remembering the heroics and suffering of these unusual men. It is our duty to etch in the mind of history the true and unalterable feats that these men demonstrated to the world. We must be ever vigilant of those revisionists who lie in wait for us to drop our guard so that they may incrementally and beneath our notice, alter the facts of history. We owe our men no less than our total devotion to safeguard history in their names and their memories.

So you are dead…

The easy words contain

No sense of loss, no sorrow, no despair.

Thus hunger, thirst, fatigue…

Combine to drain all feelings from our hearts.

The endless glare, the brutal heat

Anaesthetize the mind.

I cannot mourn you now…

I lift my load,

The suffering column moves.

I leave behind

Only another corpse

Beside the road…— Lt. Henry G. Lee

Robert Hudson

Notice Anything Wrong with this Photo?

2009-11-23T18:44:00.000-08:00

How many men on Corregidor were on the Bataan Death March?

The Bataan Death March was for all intents and purposes over by April 24th, 1942.

Corregidor surrendered on May 6th, 1942. So...who are these men carrying the sign who survived the Corregidor Death March?

Identities of Philippine Southern Command photo found

2009-08-07T04:47:00.000-07:00

MAJ. GEN. WILLIAM F. SHARP AND HIS STAFF, 1942. Back row, standing left to right: Maj. Paul D. Phillips (ADC) and Capt. W.F. O'Brien (ADC). Front row, sitting left to right: Lt. Col. W.S. Robinson (G-3), Lt. Col. Robert D. Johnston (G-4), Col. John W. Thompson (CofS), General Sharp (CG), Col. Archibald M. Mixson, (DCofS), Lt. Col. Howard R. Perry, Jr., (G-1), Lt. Col. Charles I. Humber (G-2), and Maj. Max Weil (Hq Comdt and PM).

Ned King of Bataan / A Poem by General William E Brougher, Commander, 11th Division, Philippine Army

2009-07-21T20:37:00.000-07:00

Ned King of Bataan
I’ll sing you a song of a soldier
I’ll tell you a tale of a man
A song I’ll sing of Old Ned King…
Ned King of doomed Bataan!

So prepare for thrills and heartaches
And prepare to shed some tears;
I’ll tell you a tale that cannot fail
To jar your jaded ears.

You plain John Does and GI Joes,
You wailing Sal and Sue,
Ned King turned up the bitter cup
And drained the dregs for you.

You post war boys with all your noise,
You homesick amateurs,
Ned King’s the chap who took the rap
And did his time and yours.

You chronic haters and “brass hat” baiters,
Now listen here to me,
Ned King was tried and crucified
That you may still be free.

Ned King was a gentleman born
With riches of heart and head,
A soldier and scholar, he scorned the dollar
And chose the service instead.

He ranked with the best of his time,
He met the Army’s needs,
In courage and brains and all that pertains
To the best the Service breeds.

Distinction had marked him soon
And merit had gained his star,
In school and camp he bore the stamp
Of one who must go far.

Grim Fate, the crafty old witch,
Was pranking with Ned’s career;
She was shifting the scenes in the Philippines
In the grim and fateful year.

She should have been shot at sunrise
The furtive and fickle old hag,
She was shuffling her cards and fixing the odds
For someone to hold the bag.

MacArthur was marked for Olympus
And Skinny was called to the Rock,
So Ned was the man to go to Bataan
And weather the withering shock.

A lifetime of waiting and work
High purpose that nothing could hinder,
Cards stacked in advance and Ned had his chance
To take command… and surrender!

The fate of Democracy’s General
The lot of the hapless Defender,
The cards were stacked, the jury was packed
And Ned was the first to surrender,

On a bit of a pestilent strip
Of tropical jungle land,
Starvation, disease, and mad Japanese
Were besieging the men of Bataan.

The Jap was poised for the kill,
He’d mopped up Singapore,
He has tasted the blood and found it good
And was licking his chops for more.

The fever got half of the men
In the wake of the winging pest,
While dysentery and beri-beri
Were doing for half the rest.

The men were willing to fight,
And all they had they’d give,
But the hollow shell where the main blow fell
Was weak as a rusty sieve.

The Jap was strong and bold,
His vict’ry was quickly won…
The end of the story and proud “Old Glory”
Must bow to the rising sun.

The horns of dilemma, cruel and sharp,
The heart of the General impale;
Surrender or fight? Well, neither was right
And any solution would fail.

Remember the Alamo friends,
And Christ in the Garden of Sorrow,
Then think of Ned while his tossed his bed
With thoughts of the sad tomorrow.

In the history of American arms
Since the day of the Nations birth,
The Yankee was proud his flag had bowed
To none on the face of the earth.

But when nothings to gain by fighting
And hope no longer survives,
Commanders must face the risk of disgrace
To save their soldiers lives.

Escape was open to Ned, of course
The way that shirkers go,
A steel jacket ball would end it all
And smash his cup of woe.

But Ned was not the kind
To dodge a dreaded task;
“God make me strong to do no wrong,”
Was all that he would ask.

So Ned went down on his knees
And wrestled with his God;
When morning broke he scarcely spoke
But gave his staff a nod.

A nod to his faithful staff,
And one last smile perhaps,
Then rose to his feet and taking a sheet
Went out to meet the Japs.

General William E Brougher

Generals in Tarlac Prison, Philippine Islands

2009-07-21T05:18:00.000-07:00

Photos from National Archives Oct/2008

2008-11-28T08:55:00.000-08:00

Lt General Shigemori Kuroda, Commanding General
in the Philippines in 1943, shown waiting in
Yokohama prison for transfer to Omori Prison
Camp, where he will await trial for War Crimes.

Margaret Utinski decked out with Campaign Ribbons
What? Is that a Philippine Campaign Ribbon on the bottom?

A Liberated Johnathon Wainwright being served tea in Japan

Happy reunion between Percival, MacArthur and Wainwright?

WHY SOME LIVED

2008-08-17T15:32:00.000-07:00

The battle for Bataan and its aftermath was a particularly brutal and horrifying event. Our forces were not prepared for the rapid succession of events in 1941 or for the abominable conditions they were to endure as the war unfolded. Forced to fight with outdated weapons and ammunition, undernourished and fainting from hunger, and dealing with all the indigenous tropical diseases, many perished. Believing that their four and one half months of torment was coming to an end at the time of surrender, they were to discover a higher level of suffering. Some soldiers could not believe that they had survived up to that point. Many of their friends and fellow combatants had perished for no other reason than having been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The Death March was to teach them the depravity to which the Japanese soldier could plumment. Many Filipinos and Americans suffered for lack of nourishment, water, disease and the new component, unchecked cruelty and barbarism. Again some lived and some died. There was no rhyme or reason. The somewhat fit soldiers died from abuse as well as the sick and injured who could not endure the hardship.

The next blows in close succession were the railroad ride from Capas to San Fernando where many died of suffocation and dehydration. Afterwards was the ordeal at Camp O'Donnell. The conditions at O'Donnell are well known. Many thousands died from no other reason than a total lack of decency, compassion, humanity, kindness or whatever you wish to name it. Yet again many survived.

Cabanatuan was somewhat better, yet many perished there in the next few months for the same reasons stated above. Then the insanity of the Hellships began to manifest itself. To have survived up to this point was a testament to courage and willpower, yet this was something almost unendurable. To be caged inside a somewhat furnace like situation, sitting in animal filth and forced to wallow in your own filth with limited water and food, was a new low even for the Japanese. Many survived these trips of a month or more, however, again some perished. Those who suffered the conditions in these Hellships and eventually made to slave labor camps could consider themselves fortunate. I say this because they had the fortune to be given a number by a nameless Japanese official which put them on a hellship that was not doomed to be attacked by air and by submarine of U. S. forces. Thousands of men who had the preserverence to survive the battle for Bataan, the Death March, the train to San Fernando, Camp O'Donnell, and Cabanatuan were killed by their own countrymen. They were slaughtered unknowingly because they had the misfortune of being shipped in unmarked Japanese freighters.

The final insult was to become a slave laborer on the Japanese mainland or elsewhere. Forced to work long hours in dangerous mines and factories, many more died. Some from accidents and some disease and malnutrition and of course the ever present mistreatment by their tormentors.

My father was one of the fortunate who survived the war. He was not one to speak about the horrors he endured. I do know that he carried with him a tremendous guilt for having survived when so many of those he knew did not. He could not reconcile his feelings. Having had a belief in God before the war, it was ripped from his heart by the events of his captivity. In many others the reverse was true.

The reason for this article in my blog is to share with you my belief in the reason why so many survived all of the perversive acts of the enemy over three and a half years. It is my belief that God on some level secures the lives of some soldiers so that they may testify to the hideousness of war. That they may bear witness to those of future generations that war is too great of horror to repeat. That they may substantiate the sufferings of their fellow soldiers and give evidence to those who will hold those guilty of perpetrating grievous injury and suffering for no other reason than to cause it. War is Hell in uniform. The affect and effects of war must be transmitted to the next generation and must be done by those who have existed within its grip.

Robert Hudson

8/17/08

The Legend of Bataan & Corregidor

2008-08-03T17:53:00.000-07:00

Bataan and Corregidor were not only defeats for the United States during World War Two but record setting surrenders as well. The battle for the Philippines was not particularly well documented by the media as were later battles around the globe. The harsh environment of the terrain, the swiftness with which the battle proceeded, the known brutality of the Japanese Army, and the fact that most all reporters were required to orbit around MacArthur, all conspired to dilute the number of reporters who wished to brave the coming tide of devastation.

There are times when the defeated rise above the stain of their loss. When an underdog in battle inflicts severe losses on the enemy and are deficient in arms, food, materiel and medical supplies, it can only inspire in generations to come a feeling of awe. The suffering these men and women endured mixed with the incredible heroics of their efforts combined to thwart the time table of Japanese domination in the Pacific and ultimately changed and shortened the course of the war.

Our troops although out numbering the enemy were not battle hardened and were out gunned and under supplied. The Filipino and American soldiers were compelled to find within themselves the resolve to fight artillery, bullets and bombs with guts, determination and stubbornness. Using the terrain to their advantage and the countless heroics of countless men, again and again they fought the Japanese to a standstill. One can only guess at the number of unseen and untold acts of heroism that occurred in remote areas of jungle trails and river crossings. We will never know the pain and sacrifice of so very many who perished and are known only to God.

In the course of time, many books have been written and stories related by those involved in this epic battle. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands of verified and documented reports of valor beyond description. There are those of us who are possessed with an irresistible desire to investigate that never ceases to vex the unknown with its how and why. Whatever answers that we may uncover, to err is not to fail, if the error, once recognized, leads us to a closer approximation of the truth. In the effort to attain elusive knowledge, one can be lead too quickly to adopt the simple solutions of an impulsive imagination. Yet, time after time, I came across the gleams in the dark storm of war. I found men amid the mist of pride that rose about them; stand resolute as the scaffolding of civilization came crashing down. I saw men who were forced to surrender their bodies, yet who never surrendered their conscience. I found men who died helpless and hopeless but never lost their identity to their cause. In many, God helped them escape their miseries through the blessed aid of death.

They transmitted to us through their efforts the most precious treasure of freedom. They have conferred to us the anticipation of happiness and have given us the comfort of their example. They produced within us those noble emotions which produce the finest moments of our existence; our love of freedom, our pride in the men who preserve that freedom and our earnest resolve to see that all people of earth enjoy the same benefits of freedom. A soldier whose heart is in the right place and finds plenty of opportunity to love, to defend and to help, will be astonished to discover that the highest human joy is to give of yourself.

We are all that remains of life past and gone. As of today, sixty three years have passed since the end of their nightmare. Much has been said and little has been done to reward their character and their sacrifices for we who live today. It is my belief that enough time has passed to graft the deeds of these men to the Tree of Legend. They ARE Legend and their feats are Legendary and they are deserving of more than we can possible give.

Robert Hudson 8/3/08

THE DAUGHTER MY FATHER LOST IN THE WAR

2008-06-23T20:10:00.000-07:00

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.

At wars end and at deaths door, weighing 88 pounds, he was rescued and sent to Madigan General Hospital in the state of Washington. There he spent many months recovering his health and released in the spring of 1946. His every thought since his realization that he was not going to die but very likely survive, was of his girlfriend and his daughter. His parents and family had visited him at the hospital.

From this point on, his thoughts were to go back to the Philippines as soon as possible and search for his girlfriend and daughter. It wasn't until late in 1946 that he was able to finance and receive transportation from the Army to the Philippines. With the help of the local Philippine government, he was to discover the fate of his girlfriend and that his daughter had gone into an orphanage. It was a discovery that tortured him as much as any Japanese beating or bayonet. He then began the search for his daughter. In short order he found the orphanage and the records showed who had adopted her and where she was.

As soon as possible, he telephoned the Doctor and his wife and explained who he was and why he was in Manila. He made an appointment to see them. He met with them one evening at their home in a prestigious neighborhood at 3045 Taft Ave. in Pasay City, a rural area of Manila. It was an emotional meeting in which they pleaded with him to leave her with them. Having the good sense that he did and his daughters best interest in mind, he decided to leave her with the only family she had ever known. They were good parents and loved her dearly, it was plainly evident. After telling them his decision, he said he wanted to meet her. They decided that he would be introduced as uncle Richard. I can only surmise what went through his mind and his heart at this moment. He left that evening with the above picture of Angela in his pocket and the understanding that the Doctor and his wife would send pictures and updates about Angela as she grew and matured. They did this faithfully until something happened in 1960 and contact was lost with them. The picture of Angela sat in a frame next to his bed until he passed away in 1988.

Through some investigating and the help of Mr. James Litton in Manila, I discovered that Angela married an ethnic Chinese man in 1961-62 and emigrated to another country. She is nearing the age of 67 and at this point in time and to this day she has no idea who her real father or mother were and that she has a brother. I have done what I can within the scope of my ability to find her and have failed.

So, in requiem to a lost sister and heartsick soldier/ father, I have posted this story in memory to what could have been. I did not come along until 1948. When I reached the age to where I can remember, the picture of Angela was always on the nightstand next my fathers side of the bed and after he passed away, I was the one to box it up and remove it from the light of day where it had been for 42 years. It wasn't until five years ago that I unpacked it and began my search for her. Her picture now sits on my desk next to a picture of a young Filipino girl who I sponsor through "Children International". It is my attempt to link my father through me to a young Filipino girl in a nuturing relationship. She is a sweetheart and writes me interesting letters of her life and family. Someday soon, I will meet her and embrace her as I would my sister, would I have had the chance to find her.

Robert Hudson

THIS COULD HAVE BEEN MY SISTER

2008-06-22T08:22:00.000-07:00

Philippine civilians were killed by the Japanese as reprisals for guerrilla attacks. This young girl was murdered and left in a creek bed in the village of Bingas, Llocos Norte Province on April 9th, 1945. The fact that her underwear are missing is an indication that she was molested prior to being murdered.

I will ask all who view this photograph: what threat did this small child pose to the Japanese Army? What kind of country produces monsters in vast numbers who murder children such as the young girl above in wholesale quantities for sheer sport and recreation? Can any one of you not be outraged to this day for such events that occurred in obscurity so many years ago? Does it not make your blood boil and stir your passion for the light of truth to expose such dark events. Can we not call evil, EVIL? Are we content to let bygones be bygones? Can we not speak the truth rather than whisper it for fear of political ramifications? Will we view the murder of innocent children as the debris of war or collateral damage? Can you even imagine the terror in this child's heart in the last moments of her short life? Can you not hear the echo's of her screams in the halls of history? Does it not bring an immense sadness to your heart as it does mine?

The picture speaks for itself. No soliloquy on my part can imbue this one tragedy with any greater effect than to simply gaze upon the lifeless body of this young child.

It is acts like these that compel me to action. My only weapons are my words. Yet, it is often words that change perceptions and attitudes. When history is written it is important that small voices be heard in addition to the prevailing word. Who will tell us when our power of perception is to become the measure of things?

Robert Hudson

Names of POW's my father knew

2008-05-16T15:26:00.000-07:00

Names and addresses of POW's my father knew during his years as a pow. These are the names of pow's he became close to and agreed to contact family members should anyone of them perish before the end of the war. Some of these men were in Cabanatuan with him because one or more of them perished on hellships.

Reason for being / THE ADBC

2008-05-03T19:19:00.000-07:00

2008 is a memorable year for the ADBC (American Defenders of Bataan and Corregidor). Being the largest POW organization in the U.S. representing former prisoners of the Japanese, it is a year of change, a year of rebirth and rediscovery and a changing of the guard. The new guardians are the descendents of the pillars on which rests our freedom. These pillars are the men who followed the tortuous course laid out for them in battle, in defeat, and in survival during the epic battle of the Philippines. With luck, with will and with courage, they came home to their families. The ADBC's primary mission was to tell the world the story of their struggle for survival as well as the stories of the men who still lay beneath those sacred grounds where they fell in defense of their country and in defense of their lives as prisoners of war. Over the years they have been active in the redress of their grievances toward the Japanese. Their goal has been to persuade the Japanese government to admit to the atrocities perpetrated against them as POW's and to appologize for the actions of their soldiers during the second world war, and to provide a means for citizens of this country and relatives of allied combatants to discover information about those engaged in this battle.

The numbers of surviving POW's have dwindled over the years and administrative duties are necessarily being passed on to descendents who have been active in their behalf over the years. As time wears on and over our remaining POW's, it becomes incumbent on we descendents to carry their torch into the future. In essence, time has done what the Japanese could not do. For those taking over the reigns of the organization it is a privlege rather than a burden.

The public at large knows little of the early battle for control of the Pacific arena except for the attack on Pearl Harbor. The Pearl Harbor attack at the onset of the war and the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki at the culmination of the war are well known. Everything between is merely text.

We decendents represent a father, mother or close relative who endured the unendurable. We are rich in love, admiration, respect and rich in memories left to us by our loved ones. Their struggles are carved into our minds and hearts and we shall never rest in keeping their memories alive in the public perception until the events of time take us to our fate as well.

Best of Luck to you, ADBC!

Robert Hudson

Our Enemy the Japanese / US Government Film from 1942-43

2008-05-01T04:28:00.000-07:00

Click on the arrow above to watch this 20 minute film produced by the US government for the Navy, titled "Our enemy the Japanese". It is an attempt to show the total dedication of Japanese civilians and the military establishment to dominate the world. It is, of course a propaganda film, so one must keep that in mind. It not totally without truth, yet one cannot determine when or where the boundary is crossed. It is educational nonetheless.

Robert Hudson

An Introduction

2008-04-27T16:42:00.000-07:00

MY BIASED OPINION OF THE PHILIPPINE CAMPAIGN

I am but one of thousands of proud sons, daughters, nieces, nephews and grandchildren whose relative fought in the Philippines during the early months of World War II. Those of us who have been in the environs of POW groups or have done independent study, understand why so little is known of the trials of those on Bataan, Corregidor and other Islands of the Philippines.

There are two major reasons in my estimation for this lack of knowledge. First let me state that I am not a scholar nor a historian. I have read and researched extensively. I have also communicated with a number of surviving Philippine combatants, my father being one of them. If I have a bias, it was transmitted to me by my father. One cannot discount the magnitude or effect that a parent has on your perception of events when they were a direct participant in your area of study. It is also impossible to remove the emotion from what I write for the events that I write about are emotional in nature. I have learned that some things are beyond the power of words to describe. One cannot delve into the history of this epic battle without believing that life is an incomparable privilege. Like the tides of the ocean, life hurls its waves at whatever obstacles oppose it. For anyone, much less thousands, to have survived the battleground, the diseases, the brutal treatment, and malnourishment is a testament to the men who survived those grinding years. I am also compelled to honor those who did not survive. Those who were killed in combat, those who did not have the physical make up to withstand the indigenous diseases of the area, those so undernourished and had not the strength to withstand the rigors of the DEATH MARCH and imprisonment, those singled out by nameless enemy soldiers for torture and death, those unfortunate enough to have been placed on a doomed hellship,those who perished as slave labor for jobs considered too dangerous for Japanese laborers and the countless other ways to die at the hands of of an enemy who has so little regard for life. Ask any survivor and they will tell you that the real hero's didn't come home to their families.
My father once said that hope can only be extinguished with our lives. It is the one thing that makes life bearable. It was the one thing that kept him going. That tomorrow would be a better day.

We are never more than a fleeting moment, and since each of our moments governs the one that follows it, we have to judge them as a whole and by their effects. We humans are curious creatures. We believe we are masters of the universe yet we we live on a trembling planet with entrails of fire beneath its flowers. At times I believe that we are the products of a defective creation. We do not live long enough to put what we have learned to use. Each new generation has to disappear into the light of maturity, yet often it does not arrive soon enough. Imagination is quick and knowledge is slow and we tend to lose our imagination as we age. Knowledge being the ore that is mined from thought hurls us into the future, yet knowledge evolves faster than our emotions which tend to send us on a path to destruction.

Let me get back to what I believe to be the two main reasons why the defenders of the Philippines are not remembered or regarded by the citizens of today.
First of all, the fall of the Philippines was a defeat. One of many defeats in the early stages of the war.It was the largest surrender of American forces in the history of our country. Valiant as the battle may have been, in the overall totality of the war, it was only one battle of very many in a war lasting for almost four years and a war on two fronts. Victories give us hope and pride.We remember the "Battle of the Bulge" and the Victory of "Iwojima". Hero's and movies are made from victories. Most of the POWS from the Philippine conflict did not consider themselves hero's. They did not come home to waving flags. The came home emotionally and physically damaged. It took years for some to talk and write about their experiences. Some never could. They came home feeling they had been betrayed by their country. Not exactly the stuff of a best selling novel. It took years for this country and historians to shed some light on the fact that the tremendous fight and sacrifice by Filipino and American soldiers gave our country the time to congeal into a force to be reckoned with, as they tied the hands of the Japanese forces in the Philippines and elsewhere in the Pacific. The war may have taken a much different course and lasted much longer.
Secondly, General Douglas MacArthur was much more interested in his legacy than the safety and judicious use of his men. MacArthur controlled any news from the Philippines during the battle for the Philippines as well as information after the war regarding information on POW's. Nothing unflattering about him ever made the news. MacArthur committed a number of serious military blunders in the early days of the Philippine Campaign in his disastrous attempt to meet Japanese thrusts everywhere, a strategy based on his exaggerated estimate of the prowess of the Philippine Army. In addition, his failure to transfer the vast food stocks that had been earlier assembled for removal to the Bataan Peninsula resulted in the largely unnecessary hunger that so debilitated its doomed defenders. His failure to protect the small air force under his command with the knowledge that Pearl Harbor had been attacked is beyond belief. His disbelief of the condition of his troops after months of fighting on half and quarter rations defies logic. Visiting Bataan only once during the four and one half months of vicious combat speaks for itself. The decision to award him the Medal of honor was a political one. Nothing he had done militarily in the Philippines warranted the medal. The country needed a hero and he was more than willing to be that hero. It is also shameful that he was against General Wainwright receiving the same honor. He snubbed General King after the war for surrendering against his orders. This in itself shows his complete disregard for the men under his command in the Philippines, whom he was so ready to sacrifice to the last man. To wrap it up, MacArthur managed the news. The devastating torment of years scantly made the news at the end of the war. There was a victory to celebrate and the public was in no mood for bad news.The failure in the Philippines were failures of MacArthur's staff and any successes were because of his brilliant strategizing. His photo ops were a testament to his career. Bataan and Corregidor were a successful failure in his mind. The Aura of MacArthur casts no light over my home. Again, this is a biased view. Read it in the light in which it was offered.

Needless to say, this is my opinion based solely on the actions taken during the Philippine conflict. I will mention that MacArthur was against the use of the Atomic bomb to end the war. He was ready to hurl a million men against the Japanese mainland to add to his glorious career, heedless of the tens of thousands of casualties it would have cost. The Atomic bomb ended the war in a number of days without the loss of a single American soldier. Where was the glory in that? The added time element required to defeat the Japanese on their homeland would have certainly meant that remaining POWs most likely would have perished at the hands of the Japanese.

I was in effect, a creation of the bomb. My father was on his last legs, weighing a mere 88 pounds at wars end. If the bomb had not ended the war when it did, many of us including myself, would not be here. Is it necessarily a bad thing to kill in order to save lives? That argument will never come to a conclusion. If we did not have the unknown to decipher, how would we employ ourselves? What reason would there be for any activity on our part. We are here in this place and this time because everything that has occurred in history happened exactly as it did. The slightest variation anywhere in time would have had immense repercussions in the future. Is our presence here and now a bad thing? For some, definitely, for others, not at all. I for one am happy to be here for whatever reason occasioned it.

Thank you

Robert Hudson

Note in my babybook from my father

2008-04-20T15:41:00.000-07:00

To my Son, February 25th, 1948

I want you to know when you turn 18 that this babybook was given to me by the parents of a fine young man who died in my arms in the Jungles of Bataan. He was only one of thousands of young men who died in as ruthless and ferocious a war as this supposedly intelligent human race has thus far engaged in. If in your lifetime, you can expose the folly and stupidity of mass conflicts, you will have done well.

Your Father

My fathers unit at the Cuartel De Espana, Manila

2008-04-20T15:12:00.000-07:00

Quartermaster Depot, 31st Infantry - Company A
Cuartel de Espana Roster as of 12/8/41
and
Disposition of Unit at Wars end

Horton, Thomas R. Lieutenant Colonel Infantry O-16513 9/6/42 Died of diseases in Cabanatuan.

John C. Hayes First Lieutenant, 0-374853 Quartermaster Corps 4-15-42, Murdered on the Bataan Death March, in Orani, Bataan,

Richard C. Hudson: Tech Sgt Survived. Released from Fukuoka Camp #23 at Keisen. Died 1988

James Baldassarre, M/Sgt Survived. Released from Camp Hoten, Mukden, Manchuria. Died 1972.

Luther G. McElhaney, S/Sgt. QMC 06529331 Died on the Death March, April 13, 1942.

William H. Green Sergeant, Quartermaster Corps 06296790 October 8, 1943 Died of Diseases in Cabanatuan.

Fred Duncan, Cpl., Survived: 6661241=CPL=Released from Camp #11 in Japan.

James G. Barnhill, QMC 6796317 7/31/42 Died in Cabanatuan of Diseases.

Merritt B. Estus Private First Class, U.S. Army 06983394 QMC, died on board the Arisan Maru, 10-24-44.

Densel T. Snyder Private First Class, U.S. Army 19019216 QMC, Died: June 10, 1942, in Cabanatuan of diseases.

John E. Hecker, Private First Class QMC 6840601 died on 9/14/42, in Cabanatuan, of diseases.

Abraham Cohen Private, U.S. Army 06519808 QMC Died: June 16, 1942, in Camp O'Donnell.

John D. Cox Private, U.S. Army 19019971 QMC Died: September 7, 1944, on the Shinyo Maru.

Edward Gorodesky Private, U.S. Army 06145897 QMC Died: September 7, 1944, on the Shinyo Maru.

Joseph O. Meklensek Private, U.S. Army 19052523 QMC Died: May 30, 1942, in Camp O'Donnell.

George William Greenwood, Private, 06931952 QMC Sept. 7, 1944, died on board the Shinyo Maru.

Savage, Herbert N. Private QMC 20930296 11/5/42, died in Cabanatuan of diseases.

Thomas Wilson, Pvt. 31st Infantry Regiment 17018698 7/18/42, Died in Cabanatuan

James E. Knight, Pvt, 19051756=QMC=Released from Sendai 6B Hanawa, in Japan. Died 1951.

Edmund C. Alexandrowicz Private, U.S. Army 06947996 31st Infantry Regt. Died 12-22-42, in Camp Hoten, in Mukden, Manchuria

Lester O. Miller, Private QMC 6728269 8/17/42, died in Cabanatuan of diseases.

Donald D Oakes Pvt., QMC released from Sendai 6B Hanawa, Japan.

There were 22 members of the Quartermaster depot for Company A, 31st Infantry, Manila.

Seventeen of the Twenty two did not survive the war. A 77% death rate.

Two died on the Death March-

Two died in Camp O'Donnell

Eight died in Cabanatuan

Four died in Hellships

One died in Camp Hotem- Mukden, Manchuria

As of 4/20/08, all are deceased.

Philippine Requiem / An attempt at Poetry

2008-04-09T19:01:00.000-07:00

The hands of time have passed the years
As you lay neath the earth so green
Far from home and family
In the land of the Philippine
Your sons and daughters yearn for you
And study days of yore
When death stalked you every day
In a country wracked by war

It saddens us your next of kin
The details of your fight
Bataan and Corregidor
We are witness to your might
If courage alone could win a war
And blood could douse the flames
Then enemies would tremble
At the sounding of your names

But fortunes necessarily
Put Armies to the test
And soldiers cannot carry on
Without bullets, guns or rest
Valiant and so proud you were
Until your lines retreated
Then Generals who had no choice
Declared you were defeated

Hell began to take its shape
Along the jungle trail
Men began the march of death
Which history knows no scale
Our soldiers weakened by disease
By thirst and injury
Began to see the nature of
The conquering enemy.

The worst was as yet to come
Camp ’Donnell was the first
With death disguised as walking ghosts
Tormenting men with thirst
With flies as thick as locusts
And food in short supply
The weakest simply closed their eyes
And willed themselves to die.

Men can only take so much
When cruelty is their master
Death can seem the better choice
Amid such mass disaster
Though many soon became inured
To torture and privation
They could not clearly see the road
Leading to their salvation

Prisoners must surely cope
And learn to deal with fate
Some can only live on hope
And some can only hate
Yet all came to see the path
Of caring for fellow lives
So that the final victory
Was merely to survive

Today your sons and daughters
Your nieces and nephews too
Have banded one together
In remembrance of you
All live in awe and wonder of
Your sacrifices and we see
If not for the best in you
There would not be a we
-------------------------------------------
Robert Logan Hudson ©2007

2007-11-23T17:41:00.000-08:00

Personal POW Medical History Of Richard C Hudson

1942 MIXED MALARIAL INFECTION WHILE ON BATAAN CAMPAIGN. TREATED WITH QUININE IRREGULARLY. AFTER CAPTURE HAD NO TREATMENT.
DEVELOPED JAUNDICE FOR WHICH NO TREATMENT WAS AVAILABLE. IN JULY 1942, IN JUNGLE OF TAYABAS PROVINCE WHILE A MEMBER OF A POW LABOR PARTY, I DEVELOPED BLOOD POISONING OF THE RIGHT HAND. TREATED THIS WITH FOUR (4) SULFADIAZINE TABLETS. ON 19 JULY 1942, DEVELOPED AMOEBIC DYSENTERY. NO TREATMENT WAS AVAILABLE. MALARIA WORSENED. DAILY CHILLS AND FEVER. WAS SENT TO BILIBID PRISON IN MANILA ON 21 JULY. NAVAL MEDICAL PERSONNEL CURED BLOOD POISON WITH SOME KIND OF SULFA DRUG. RECEIVED 15 GRAINS OF QUININE PER DAY UNTIL MALARIA BECAME INACTIVE. DYSENTERY INCAPACITATED ME. IN AUGUST, RECEIVED THREE (3) SMALL INJECTIONS OF EMETINE. DYSENTERY CONTINUED BUT MODERATED. EYESIGHT THEN BEGAN TO FAIL, AND AT THE SAME TIME GENITALS TURNED GREEN, SHRIVELED AND SCROTUM CRACKED, FEET DEVELOPED A BURNING, TINGLING SENSATION BETWEEN TOES AND INSTEP. ALL THESE SYMPTOMS ABATED UPON DRINKING COD LIVER OIL.

1943 SPORADIC MALARIAL ATTACKS OF LESSENING SEVERITY. DYSENTERY SLOWLY ABATED AND BY JANURARY 1944, CEASED TO TROUBLE ME.

1944 EDEMATOUS BERI BERI BECAME CHRONIC.

1945 ACCOMPANIED BY PELLAGRA AND SCURVY, HAD HOOKWORM AND TWO OTHER TYPES OF WORMS. NO FORMAL TREATMENT RECEIVED. ATE TANGERINE SKINS. DEVELOPED SEVERE EDEMA WHICH WAS TREATED WITH SOAP PELLETS, REDUCING SWELLING BY MEANS OF DRASTIC DIARRHEA.

RETURNED TO U. S. CUSTODY IN SEPTEMBER 1945 AND HOSPITALIZED AT MADIGAN GENERAL HOSPITAL UNTIL 1946.

Cuartel De Espana 1940

2007-11-23T17:30:00.000-08:00

Sgt. Richard Hudson
Cuartel De Espana
Circa 1940

POW Psalm of 42

2007-11-22T07:45:00.000-08:00

Our fathers who art in Cabanatuan
Hollow are thy cheeks
Thy kingdom gone
Thy will diminished
On Earth as it is in hell
Give you this day your daily rice
And forget not your daily tortures
Nor those who torture against you
Be not led into starvation
But delivered from your captors
For thee are our hero’s
Our leaders
And our glory
For ever and ever
Amen

Robert Hudson 2006

Robert Hudson / Son of a POW

2007-11-21T20:50:00.000-08:00

Greetings to all who were curious enough to get this far into this blog. Since I do not have the time and am not knowledgeable enough to maintain a website, this will serve my purpose. We sons and daughters of former POW's of the Japanese have a unique perspective on the viciousness, brutality and inhumanity of war. In particular the inhumanity that exists outside of battle. When the heat of battle is exhausted and the victors have to deal with the human spoils of war, then the true character of the victorious soldier nation comes to light. We know the true character of the Japanese soldier firsthand from the lips of our surviving fathers and the bleached bones of our fathers that lay beneath the sea and earth in the land of the Philippines. Robert Hudson