Then I spotted them, standing in the hallway next to my brothers—my mother and father. They looked about the same as I remembered them; maybe their hair was a little grayer, but they looked real good. The tears welled up in my eyes as I ran as fast as I could into their arms. Both of them were beaming and smiling, and their eyes were brimming with tears of happiness. After a few minutes of hugging, we pushed back from each other. I looked at them and thought, Is this real? while they were looking at me and saying, “It’s really you.” We were incredibly happy people at that moment. They told me that because of gasoline rationing, only one car could make the trip from Chicago. Bunny was waiting for me at home, and Joe was working.
After our reunion I checked in with the floor nurse. She informed me that I was going to have a private room and that the doctors would be in shortly for the first exam. They would determine if I could get a pass and go home for a week so that I could get acclimated to normal life. In half an hour a group of doctors came into my room. After examining my shoulder, my hip, my back, and my nose, they gave me permission to check out for a week, but they warned me to come back for treatment, or else my condition could deteriorate beyond repair.
I hurriedly dressed and left the hospital. My family helped me down the stairs and into the car. I was on my way home. How can I describe my happiness? I was all smiles. I wanted to ask so many questions but was afraid of opening bad wounds. I wanted to ask about Laura and why she did not wait for me, but I just could not do it. I was certain it would break my mom’s and dad’s hearts if they knew I was still carrying a torch for her. I did the best I could all the way home. Finally we arrived in Chicago. When I got out of the car in front of our apartment building, a group of my parents’ friends was waiting for me. They all just wanted to say, “Welcome home. It’s good having you back.” It felt good to be home.
That week I had to take care of a few things before I returned to the hospital. First on my list was to talk to Laura. I called her that evening, and she cried. She then began to explain what had happened. She had been notified that I was missing in action and, under the circumstances, presumed dead. Then, after waiting for three years for some word from the government regarding my status, the pressure I had feared from her family took hold. At about this time, her father told her younger sister, who was in love and wanted to get married, that in accordance with Jewish religious law she could not marry before the oldest daughter. That meant Laura must marry first.
Poor Laura. First, I had kept the legal papers the justice of the peace had given us because I knew neither of us wanted Laura’s father to find out about our affair and ultimate elopement, and second, she had no idea where in Kentucky we had been married. So, when the time came to show her father evidence of our marriage, she was unable to produce a marriage certificate. Maybe seeing the actual allotment checks I had authorized for her would have convinced her father otherwise, but the fact is he did not want to believe it.
Laura explained the total confusion of not knowing what had happened to me and not wanting to hurt her sister. Her family and friends had advised her to get on with her life. She had been seeing a man who had proposed to her many times and she felt she could love him, so she took the easiest way out at the time. She agreed to marry him. She did it not only for her own sake, but so that her sister could get married, too. At that time, she told me, her husband was in the Philippines and not expected home for a number of months. And, she continued, she was pregnant. Then, she sobbed and asked for my understanding.
As we continued to talk, I could sense the guilt she was feeling. I did not want that for her; after all, I loved her. I did not want her to be unhappy, so I lied to her. I told her I understood why she did what she did. I explained that even though the marriage certificate had been lost with all my other possessions when the Japanese bombed our base at Fort Stotsenburg, if I had to, I would go back to Kentucky and drive all over the state to find that little town with the small general store and the justice of the peace. But, I went on, if no one knew about this except us and if I did not make an issue out of it, why bother? We could have the marriage annulled. She agreed with that solution and thanked me for being so considerate. Considerate, hell! I was devastated, and I wondered how she really felt.
We talked a few minutes more, and she mentioned that many of our friends from the south side of Chicago wanted to have a welcome-home party for me the following Saturday night. Would I come? I did not want to do anything that was going to involve Laura, but not wanting to show my grief, I said I would be pleased to go. I arranged to pick her up, which would give me an opportunity of seeing her family for the last time.
Saturday night came very quickly. I worried about how I would handle this situation and what I should say and do. I had to keep from showing any animosity toward her family for its insistence that Laura was not legally married. Here I was, a full 123 pounds, with my left arm partially paralyzed and my right leg so weak I could hardly walk on it, and I was going to meet the family while pretending to be so happy. I drove over to her home that night, said hello to her parents, and put on a good act of being nonchalant. Then Laura and I left for the party. I understood why Laura’s parents were none too happy with my coming over and picking up their married and pregnant daughter. After all, I had been away for more than four years, and they worried that I may have changed.
Soon we arrived in front of the home where the party was being held. I got out of the car, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the door to help Laura out. In a split second, without thinking of the consequences, I held Laura close to me and kissed her on the lips. As I did I said, “I still love you.” Before I could stop kissing her, she fainted dead away. She actually fell down on the sidewalk, out cold.
What in the world could I do now? I thought. I was too weak to lift her, did not have enough strength in my one good hand to hold her, and was unable to run and get help. I was devastated. I had caused this, and I should have known better. I just wanted to have the opportunity to see her one last time, but I did not think this through clearly, allowing my emotions to rule my good sense. Now here I was, helplessly standing by someone else’s pregnant wife who was lying on a street curb, passed out. Just about the time that I was becoming truly concerned, another friend and party guest stopped nearby, saw the problem, and helped Laura to her feet. Laura was herself again, and we went into the party.
I do not remember much else about that night, but I do remember leaving the party early, taking Laura home, and walking her to the door. We looked each other in the eyes and said, almost in unison, “Good luck, and good-bye.”
For me, it was truly the end of a dream that had helped me get home alive. Despite my heartbreak, I realized that the dream of being with her was one of the reasons that I never gave up and never stopped believing that one day I would return. For that I was eternally grateful, but our relationship was over, and there was no sense in crying about it any longer. I wondered then, and still wonder today, if she had told me the whole truth or if she had tried to ease my pain by telling me something that she felt I would rather hear. Did she give up on me because she fell in love with another man? Or was it my prolonged absence and the uncertain future that caused her to give up waiting? I guess I will never know.
The following Saturday night my folks rented a hall and put on a welcome-home party for my brother Bunny and me. I left the hospital on a weekend pass. When I arrived at the party, the hall was full of people: my folks’ friends, my brother’s friends, neighbors, a few of my old girlfriends, and a few of my old buddies who were classified as 4F, or unfit for military service due to poor health. Many of my healthier old friends were still in the service and overseas. The girls whom I had dated were all married, and most of them were pregnant. Consequently, I did not have many young friends around when I came home. The party was great, nevertheless, especially because no one asked me about my wartime experiences. I do not know how I would have responded at that time.
/> We took pictures of everyone there. Relatives from Detroit—my niece Harriet, her husband Martin, my brother Joe, his wife Fay, and my niece Shirley—and, of course, my family from Chicago including Lou, his wife Edith, Bill, and his wife Evelyn, all welcomed Bunny and me home. Even my best friend, Lew Brittan, was there. It was a glorious feeling to know we had been missed and to know we were wanted.
By the first of the week I had to get back to reality, which meant going back to Schick General Hospital. The doctors recommended two operations—one on my shoulder and one on my hip. Meanwhile, I also had to submit a report to the quartermaster listing the personal items I lost when the war broke out. As I understood it, I was allowed to have my belongings over in the Philippines during peacetime, and the U.S. government assumed responsibility for any personal items I lost due to the outbreak of war.
The bombing of Clark Field destroyed everything in my foot locker and duffel bag. Of all the items I lost, the one I really cared for the most was my marriage certificate. On later reflection, I was relieved that I never found it. After all, I did not want to hurt Laura, and if I had found it, I may have done or said something I would have regretted later.
Before I went in to apply for reimbursement for my lost possessions, all my friends warned me that the officer in charge was cutting the requested amounts in half and that I should take that into consideration when submitting my claim. Armed with that advice, I applied the full stateside replacement value to the items. When the officer asked for the value of my loss, I quickly said, “Seven hundred dollars, sir.” The officer just looked at me, read my list of items, and smiled. Then he said, “Fine. Just sign this form.”
I could not believe it. I had enough money to replace all the items I lost and then some. After all, when I left the United States for the Philippines, seven hundred dollars would buy a 1940 Buick convertible. While in prison camp, I daydreamed about owning that car, so I decided to use the money I received from the government to satisfy yet another long-awaited dream. The 1940 Buick convertible was going to be mine.
Before I left the hospital on my second weekend pass, I went to the paymaster and asked for my paycheck, all four years of it, and cashed my government reimbursement check. It only took about ten minutes for the clerk to verify and agree with me as to the amount of money I had coming. He processed my request for my back pay, and as they were preparing to issue me a check, I asked if they would object to giving me the amount in cash. We counted the money out together, all forty-seven hundred dollars, in tens and twenties. I had to go into the post exchange (PX) and buy a suitcase just to carry it all. I felt like a millionaire.
When I got home my first order of business was to find a 1940 Buick convertible. Bill explained that no new cars had been produced since the 1941 model, and all the car dealers sold and displayed used cars. He suggested I go to the nearest Buick dealer to see what he could do for me. When I arrived at the local Buick dealership, I saw a pair of what appeared to be shining new convertibles on the showroom floor. I walked in, pointed to the black one, and said, “That’s the one I want. Wrap it up.” The salesman looked at me and offered, “Why not take both of them? I can give you a real good buy.” “For God’s sake,” I said, “what would I do with two of them?” He looked at me and replied, “You’re a dealer, aren’t you?” Did I look like a car dealer, in my Army uniform? I laughed and said, “No, thanks. I’ll take just one.”
Almost as an afterthought, I asked how much the car was. When he said the price was $3,750, I almost fainted. The salesman said, “It has very low mileage and is really a very good buy considering there won’t be any new cars produced for at least another year. Where have you been? Don’t you know the price of cars?” No, I was afraid I did not know the price of cars, and I did not think he really wanted to know where I had been. So, I just smiled, turned around, and walked out of the showroom. I decided I did not need a car at this time, especially not $3,750 worth. Besides, I was still in the hospital and did not have any idea how long I would be there. I decided to wait a while before buying my first car.
At first when I looked around the city, I did not see any changes. Everything seemed to be just about the same as when I left. After all, all of the country’s resources had been channeled into the war effort and little was left for local consumption or construction. The changes were more subtle. On my first day at home, for example, when my mother asked me what I wanted for dinner, I said a big, thick, juicy steak. My mother immediately went to her purse and, after pulling out a little booklet, said, “I don’t know if I have enough coupons for meat this month.” I did not know what she was talking about. Not enough coupons? Then she explained the government rationed such products as toothpaste, meat, sugar, shoes, canned goods, gas, and other items we could have bought just four years ago without any limitation.
I also heard about the illicit trading on the “black market,” in which rationed goods could be purchased without using government-issued ration coupons. Of course, the marketeers sold these products at prices significantly higher prices than regular established prices. Some businesses were run almost exclusively to sell items at black market prices, and I was shocked to find legitimate businesses selling products without the required ration coupons and, of course, at inflated prices. I could not believe some of the stories I heard. I wondered, is this what I was going to have to deal with now that I was home?
Another change since I had left four years ago was in women’s hair styles. The girls stopped wearing the pageboy and adopted Veronica Lake’s style of long, flowing hair. Right away I also noticed the girls were donning shorter skirts. The new hemlines saved material, they told me, but they did not need an excuse as far as I was concerned. I was all in favor of the new style of showing off a girl’s legs, and I liked the pin-up of Betty Grable. Another cultural change was reflected in the movies. They all seemed to have a war theme, and of course the United States always won every battle. At times I would become irritated at the constant glorification of winning. Only the cowardly enemy was ever shown to surrender.
New songs like “Rosie the Riveter” surprised me only because I never thought of women doing such dangerous jobs. In fact, what astonished me when I returned from the Pacific was seeing women doing what in the past had been only men’s jobs. Women were working as draftsmen, mechanics, machine operators, and gas station attendants. Seeing women in army and navy uniforms was a complete shock.
The most amazing thing to me, however, was when I learned that Congress had passed a bill that would pay the tuition for returning veterans who wished to go to college. Better still, the veteran would receive a monthly stipend while attending school. It was something to consider.
While in my hospital bed, I had me plenty of time to think. My mind wandered to those awful days on the Bataan Death March and what had kept me going. Was it luck that I survived the ordeal while so many others succumbed, or was it part of a broader plan? I seriously evaluated this. If I could determine what it was that brought me back, then I could use the same philosophy for making the most of the rest of my life. Then I realized that those friends of mine who survived all had a positive attitude. Like me, they had believed they would come home, and they worked hard at making their dream a reality.
At last I found the answer of why I returned. I always had a positive attitude, from the day we surrendered Bataan through the sixty-eight excruciating miles of the march to the years in prison camp and in the coal mine. I kept saying, “You can’t have a dream come true if you don’t have a dream to start with.” Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible, and achieves the impossible. I always filled my mind with dreams, and I always had a goal. Now I could start putting my life in order.
I figured out I had unconsciously followed a sort of five-point plan of survival. As I looked back, I realized there was more to it than just my having a positive attitude. Although it was definitely the first and most important part of my plan, I found I also had to have a strong commitme
nt to survive in the face of adversity. I had to abandon all negative thoughts, all pessimism. It was no longer a question of whether I could survive but a determination to do it. “I know I can,” I would say to myself.
Second, I had established for myself long-term goals, such as getting home, being reunited with my loved ones, and surviving each ordeal, and short-term goals, such as making it to a bend in the road or to that herd of carabao on the march. The short-term goals had to be realistic and achievable, whereas the long-term goals were my dreams. I had to believe that if I wanted something bad enough, I could get it. The survivors of the death march were ordinary people who had extraordinary determination.
My third point of survival was keeping as healthy as I could. I knew that eating was an important part of living. I watched scores of men die because they said they could not eat another bowl of rice, they just could not swallow it. Some died only a few days after trading their rice for cigarettes or simply giving their rice away.
Once when I was deep in thought about what my life was like back in those dark days in prison camp, I started to laugh as I remembered the time when the Japanese carted into camp a load of dogs, all barking and whining. We were told they were going to be our treat at our next meal. We did not get a very big piece of meat in our soup that day, but whatever it was, I ate it. Then I recalled the day we were served a fat and rubbery undigestible stomach of a whale. It took an agonizing effort to consume this so-called piece of meat, which was so bad that the following day almost half of the men came down with the runs. Of course, we could not get time off from work just because of that, so we had to make the best of a bad situation. Once inside the mine, I spent just as much time shoveling over my runny bowels as I did shoveling coal. The fact was I knew I had to eat to stay alive, so I ate whatever was put in front of me.
My Hitch in Hell Page 29