by Peter Eisner
She promised that everything the judge had written was true. Ohta was satisfied and said Claire “could continue living in [Roxas’s] house, and that she should refrain from performing any act showing hostility to the Japanese Armed Forces.” The entire visit to Fort Santiago had taken no more than half an hour, and Claire was back with Roxas more quickly than expected.
Now that she was legal and healthy, the time had come to prepare to meet her commitment to John Boone. Claire had several priorities: One was to earn enough money to support herself and to keep Dian, now two and a half, healthy and safe. Next was to set up a regular information and supply run to Boone. She also desperately wanted to find John Phillips, who remained close to her heart.
Claire was adding to the list of aliases that always seemed to keep her ahead of detection by old suitors and free from unwanted scrutiny. Her official documentation with Japanese authorities specified that she was the wife of a Philippine national, Manuel Fuentes. She kept the name “Fuentes” and decided that her first names (Clara, her birth name; Claire, her stage name; and Maybelle, her middle name) would not do. She decided to change names again, apparently for purposes of confusing authorities. She took up a name that she had used on the street back when she was arrested in Seattle. She would now call herself Dorothy Fuentes.
Becoming Madame Tsubaki
Manila, August 1942
AFTER A FEW WEEKS of rest and recovery prescribed by her doctor, along with doses of quinine, vitamins, and good food, Claire launched herself fully into the new world of occupied Manila. At first she took on the role of volunteer nurse, an extension of what she had been doing in the mountains of Bataan.
Judge Roxas’s sister and sister-in-law invited her to join them at a training course at the Red Cross. She also got a quick lesson in sewing nurse uniforms. “I borrowed their patterns and promptly turned myself out two uniforms. The three of us reported for duty on the following Monday.” By the end of July, she was a part-time volunteer assigned to twenty patients on a ward at the Remedios Hospital. She used contacts whenever she could to seek information about her lost lover, John Phillips, but no one had heard of him.
The Japanese condoned volunteer work of this sort, so Claire was abiding by Judge Roxas’s admonition that she stay out of trouble. However, she kept up with the nursing only long enough to plot a more dangerous course. Judge Roxas was not surprised when, despite the explicit warning from Lieutenant Colonel Ohta of the Kempeitai against anti-Japanese activity, Claire finally admitted that she had other work in mind. She told the judge that she was reaching out to others who wanted to fight clandestinely against the occupation. She “continued with her underground activities, joining a group of Filipinos, who were devoted principally to sending money and foodstuffs to the American prisoners who were in an internment camp in one of the provinces in Central Luzon.”
She also felt she was overstaying her welcome and knew that he could not approve of what she was doing. Her underground operations might cause him trouble. In Japanese eyes, the judge had vouched for Claire’s loyalty, and he might be held responsible for anything she might do.
After about ten weeks living at Judge Roxas’s house, Claire, along with Dian and their new Chinese nursemaid, Ah Ho, moved back to the Dakota Apartments, where they had lived before war broke out. Out on her own, Claire needed money to meet expenses and then to set up a way to send support to Boone. She went back to what she knew best—singing and dancing. She got a job for twenty-five dollars a week plus tips at Ana Fey’s, a nightclub in the Ermita section of Manila close to the bay and not far from Intramuros and Luneta Park. Ana Fey’s was popular among Japanese soldiers and people with money. It was one of dozens of clubs in Manila before and during the Japanese occupation. The importance of such clubs to the Philippine economy grew exponentially during occupation, when jobs were scarce and the prices of food, medicine, clothing, and other products were spiking. Singers and orchestras performed while the hostesses circulated and sat with single men—now mostly Japanese soldiers or Japanese businessmen visiting town. The women would flirt and coax the men to buy beer, wine, and whiskey while ordering drinks for the women. The girls pretended to be drinking wine and champagne but drank cheap nonalcoholic beverages instead to run up the bar tab of the men they were with. At the end of the night, the women kept a portion of the drink tab, along with tips for whatever service they might provide.
Unemployment was high after the Japanese invasion; the women working in the clubs did not brag about the nature of their jobs; the bars were a perfect setting for prostitution, which offered much more income than bar tabs and tips. Women and some gay and transvestite men who had lost their jobs when war broke out or could no longer go to their schools and universities opted instead to work at one of the clubs, often earning more in a week than they could earn before the war in a month. There were well-known hotels that catered to such action within walking distance. A woman who was a child in Manila during the occupation said that there was no doubt that nightclubs in Manila were not just gathering places for innocent chat and socializing. Women could turn tricks with the Japanese soldiers and make good money. “Make no mistake,” said the woman, adding that she was speaking from personal experience, “no matter what they said or didn’t say, that was the only reason that the clubs were so popular.”
Ana Fey’s was one of the early hot spots in Manila under the Japanese occupation. Part of the reason undoubtedly was her liaison with a man named Horiuchi, a correspondent for the Tokyo newspaper Asahi Shimbun. Claire also noted that Ana Fey was able to function normally even though she was Jewish, one of the odd characteristics of occupation in the Pacific. She carried a German passport, and that meant freedom even if she looked like an American or spoke English. A number of Americanized or American-educated German Jews in the Philippines managed to remain free; the Japanese alliance with Nazi Germany was strong, but the Japanese did not bother to treat Jewish Germans differently from other Germans, even when hard-line Nazi diplomats complained. Claire described Ana Fey as “a tiny, doll-like little person with platinum blond hair and baby blue eyes.” Claire fell quickly into the routine of singing and was happy to be making some money. One night in late September, Ana Fey asked her to serve as a hostess between songs, to sit with and entertain certain high rollers; problems soon developed. Claire said that a Japanese officer had slapped her after she refused to bring ice for his drink and summoned a waiter instead. Claire slapped him back; striking a Japanese officer was dangerous and possibly lethal. Other officers held the officer back and he calmed down a bit. After negotiations, Claire was going to have to pay. She was forced to submit to a beating in a back room so the Japanese officer could make up for the insult and embarrassment. Rather than trying to intercede, Claire’s boss stood guard at the door while she was kicked and beaten. Ana Fey then told Claire to cover up her bruises and return to the club floor. She stumbled through the rest of the night, but she had been beaten badly enough that, even with her bruises covered by makeup, she couldn’t return to the club for several days.
Claire’s time at Ana Fey’s amounted to a long lesson on how to deal with Japanese officers. The beating was bad, but it could have been worse. She had heard that a hostess at another club had thrown beer in a Japanese officer’s face and he had killed her on the spot. Other stories about atrocities had been circulating that frightened and angered Claire. She had seen a man brought in with a hernia caused by a kick from a Japanese soldier. She heard of another patient hospitalized after a soldier batted him in the head with a saber sheath.
Claire knew her own nature and it was hard for her to take an insult, whatever the consequences. Claire blamed Ana Fey for not standing up for her, though probably unfairly. Ana Fey likely could not have done anything to help her even if she tried and might also have been beaten in return. The Japanese were going to win any argument.
When she complained to her friends at the club, they sugge
sted she go out on her own and open a competing nightclub. If she kept her temper, she could be her own boss, and even challenge the supremacy of Ana Fey’s and other hot spots. The friends, Felicidad Corcuera and Judith Geronimo, encouraged her and said they would come along to the new club. Claire liked the idea.
She approached several people who could loan her some money; Chan, a sympathetic, trustworthy Chinese restaurant owner on Mabini Street not far from Ana Fey’s, came through. He agreed to lend her money for rent and renovations and suggested she choose a second-floor space once used as a restaurant and dancing school nearby at the corner of San Luis and Mabini streets, a few blocks from Dewey Boulevard, where she and John Phillips had strolled and looked out at Manila Bay. As collateral Claire gave Chan two rings and two hundred dollars in U.S. bills—useless during the occupation—and promised to repay him in pesos. Judith and Felicidad—Fely for short—were popular headliners at Ana Fey’s and would be a great draw at the new club. Fely, twenty-two, was a star attraction. She had studied business and accounting at the University of Manila before the war, but she now specialized in Japanese folk songs. She even chipped in a little money on her own to help Claire set things up. Other hostesses also came along, including Fahny, a Filipina with African features whose father was American and had been detained at Santo Tomas. These were important relationships. Claire trusted the women and knew that they were pro-American. Judith Geronimo recommended her brother Mamerto, eighteen, who came along as a bartender. Mamerto was acquainted with important businessmen in town, such as Juan Elizalde, the popular polo player and businessman who had begun running a secret insurgency to undermine the Japanese occupation. He also knew Chick Parsons.
Within three months of her return to the city, Claire had connections to people who would soon be playing an important role in intelligence gathering for General MacArthur. They were committed to fighting and subverting the Japanese occupation on behalf of the United States; the question was how one could best fight the Japanese inside Manila. Judge Roxas was trying to maintain proper relations with the Japanese occupation and with the Philippine leaders chosen for the government, including his old friend José Laurel, now interior minister. Claire and the others were preparing to defy the occupation.
• • •
As Claire got ready to open her nightclub, the best thing was to have an amicable break with Judge Roxas. She decided to do it aboveboard, something uncharacteristic for her—she formally asked the judge’s permission. Claire told the judge that she had “decided to open a nightclub with the end, according to her, of getting more contact with Japanese officials who much frequented the nightclubs and also for the purpose of earning more money to enable her to continue sending help to the American prisoners. And she asked me for permission to leave my house.” He feared the consequences, but the judge acquiesced. He could certainly understand the desire to fight the Japanese.
Claire’s nightclub was in a wooden building in a prime location across the street from Luneta Park, set back behind a gate; downstairs were a furniture store and an illicit gambling parlor. Claire had the second floor, an open space with a sweeping, broad stairway leading up to the entrance. A workman came in to paint the walls a cream color; she brought in an electrician to install accent lighting and a spotlight, and she set up a stylish entrance, a main room with cocktail tables, and room for dancing and a stage for a show and small house band. Claire and Fely hung off-white and pastel curtains. She saved money by renting furniture. “I lined the walls with comfortable low-slung rattan settees and occasional portable armchairs. In front of the settees, low cocktail tables provided space for drinks and ashtrays. The whole effect was that of a luxurious lounge, rather than of a restaurant or cocktail bar.” Claire asked advice from one of her more ardent admirers at Ana Fey’s—Mr. Hochima—a Japanese man who was in the mining business. She told him she wanted it to be a high-class operation that would attract well-heeled civilians and Japanese officers. The businessman suggested a distinctive Japanese name—Tsubaki Club. Tsubaki meant camellia, a vibrant flower much loved in Japan. The word evoked a lush air of exclusivity. Hochima also suggested that they set up a side area for privacy—the kind of privacy that would bring more tips for hostesses and revenue for Claire’s business.
Claire decided that Tsubaki Club would not prepare food; it would serve beer and liquor along with hors d’oeuvres and snacks such as peanuts, crackers, and eggs, along with cheese and corned beef, when available. If guests wanted something more, Chan was ready to send over orders from his Chinese restaurant. The liquor was no problem at all. Juan Elizalde, as owner of the biggest distillery in town, already was secretly organizing to operate against the Japanese. When Juan found out what Claire planned to do, he made things easy. He provided a constant supply so that Claire “was able to get large quantities at practically no price at all; he found out what I was doing, and he said we were all working together and it didn’t make any difference.” Besides the alcohol, Claire said Juan Elizalde also gave her some start-up funding.
She did not forget that she would be competing with other such clubs, including Ana Fey’s, and looked for an edge. While Ana Fey had a piano player who accompanied the singers, Fely put together a quartet that specialized in traditional Hawaiian music as well as standards. Fahny brought in her sisters, Anna and Lily, as hostesses, and Claire hired five waiters, including an attractive young man named David, who danced as he served drinks and participated in the floor shows.
When the preparations were done, Claire advertised the opening of the club in the Manila Tribune, still publishing mostly in English with an occasional article in Japanese. The paper had become a propaganda sheet, widely read by people around town, including Japanese officers and businessmen. Opening night was Saturday, October 17.
Opening Night
Manila, October 17, 1942
“COME ONE, COME ALL,” read the advertisement in the Manila Tribune. “Under New Management. Tsubaki Club.” And they did come, standing room only. Japanese officers, businessmen, and the Filipinos who worked with them crowded into the nightclub a few blocks from the Port of Manila. Claire had a commanding spot at the top of the regal staircase. She was dressed in a leggy, “clinging, halter-necked white evening gown.” High society and top Japanese occupation officials appeared, just as Claire had hoped, opting for something new on the night scene. Mr. Hochima—Claire’s admirer and consultant on naming the nightclub—came along with some mining friends. Also attending was a Japanese conductor and composer, Mr. Ichikawa, who became a regular because he had fallen for the lovely Fely, the twenty-two-year-old with the creamy complexion and intoxicating smile who could coo in Japanese as well as in English and Tagalog.
Claire was able to attract for the opening Colonel Jiro Saito, the head of the Japanese propaganda office, who lent official endorsement and acceptance of Tsubaki Club by the Japanese administration. That brought in luminaries of the arts and politics who regularly toured the Philippines and other occupied territories as part of the effort to promote Japanese culture. The Tokyo film star Seizaburô Kawazu attended, among other visiting celebrities. Colonel Saito brought with him other officers, including several army doctors, along with George Terada, a Japanese American businessman who was in good standing with the occupiers. Claire said Juan Elizalde also came to the opening. The Japanese assumed he was interested in business and nothing more. When anyone asked, “Who is responsible? Whose club is this?” one could nod toward the woman in the long dress and say: “Madame Tsubaki.” It became her latest alias.
The Hawaiian combo played, smoke wafted to the rafters, and soldiers gathered at tables and settees, surrounded by Madame Tsubaki’s comely hostesses. When everything seemed right, the floor show began. The music turned to rhythmic drums and a chant with origins in the mountains of Luzon. A few of the hostesses—now wearing traditional robes, barefoot, and carrying woven reed baskets—danced in unison, ready to sow the seeds of
the folkloric Filipino rice-planting dance.
Kay págkasawíng-pálad
Ng iníanák sa hírap,
Ang bísig kung di íunát,
Di kumíta ng pílak.
The syncopated rhythm, the drums, the coordinated movements, the smiles of the young dancers, the fine threads of their garments did not betray the meaning of the sad folk song of people oppressed and broken under the sun. The song was about “hands becoming tired from working in the mud . . . then harvesting and husking,” they sang, “shaking the trays, throwing the imaginary grains in the air, and blowing away the chaff.”
It is a misfortune
To be born poor,
If one doesn’t work
One doesn’t earn . . .
The dancers raised their baskets to the sky and to each side, forward and back, thrusting downward as if to sow the rice plants.
Bent from morn till set of sun,
Cannot stand and cannot sit,
Cannot rest for a little bit.
Moving a bit faster now to a quickened drum, they twirled as their baskets came close to the ground. The women set the baskets on the floor and let out rhythmic whoops as they spread the rice plants. And they repeated the motions, now “harvesting and husking, shaking the trays, throwing the imaginary grains in the air, and blowing away the chaff.”
Come friends and let us homeward take our way,
Now we rest until the dawn is gray,
Sleep, welcome sleep we need to keep us strong