by Peter Eisner
Claire Goes to School
Tsubaki Club, Manila, Wednesday, May 24, 1944
THEY CAME FOR her the next morning. She was having breakfast with Dian when four military policemen trooped up the stairs to her living quarters. “Hands up!” one of them said. They searched her for weapons and started a full hunt for evidence. “High Pockets,” they said, “take us to your office.” She was shocked to hear them use her code name.
They “ordered me to open my desk and trunks. They had a suitcase with them, and tumbled my club accounts, treasured makeup and canned goods into it.” Before they led her away for questioning, she awakened Flora, Dian’s nurse, so she could care for the child.
“I managed to smile at her and said ‘be a good girl and Mummy will be home soon.’”
She walked downstairs with the guards and got into a car. Fely and the others had not come in yet. Dian and her nurse were left alone; the car door slammed and Claire was gone.
• • •
At midday the workers started showing up. Flora told everyone what had happened. Damian was early among them; he had worked with Claire since the early days of the occupation in the hills of Bataan, when Claire lived with Carlos Sobreviñas and his family. They had traveled together, evaded patrols and ambushes, and survived. Damian was sobbing when Fely got there. She took command and ordered another sweep of the building for anything that could cause problems. When Mamerto arrived for his shift, he looked around, saw the faces, and did not need to be told. Why did it have to happen? Claire could have escaped to Bataan with the guerrillas, he had said. “I told her to go away, but she is so stubborn.”
Next Fely walked with Flora and Dian, now four years old, over to Remedios Hospital, where Peggy was working a nursing shift. Peggy was not surprised.
“Well, leave Dian with me,” she said. Peggy had spoken with Claire about what they would do if either of them was arrested. Peggy had always promised Claire that Dian would be her priority. She had reassured Claire even when she was in the hospital. “Don’t worry about Dian; I will take care of her until you come out.”
“Supposing I don’t come out?”
“Then I’ll still take care of her.”
Fely returned to the club. A military police squad showed up and issued the expected order: Tsubaki Club was hereby closed. They searched the place while Fely and Mamerto protested; they said they could not believe the news; they were shocked to hear that Claire had been involved in anti-Japanese activities.
The military policemen left, and hostesses and musicians started gathering for the evening shift. The mood was somber. Fely told them she planned to ask for permission to reopen a scaled-down version of the club on the ground floor of the building, smaller but still needing waiters and hostesses and some music. The Japanese officials would approve—as long as they stayed far from anyone associated with High Pockets. Most of the staff was worried, though, that they might be implicated.
Fely thought she would be able to keep running the nightclub, which had still been making three or four thousand pesos a week, not as much as before, but enough to continue funding supply operations after the Japanese dragnet subsided. That amount of money could also support Fely, Mamerto, and the workers at the club. There were no better options.
Peggy came to the shuttered club through the back entrance that night and gathered Dian’s clothes. Fely was sitting there alone in the dark. Peggy was faithful to her word about Dian. She did not leave the child with a nursemaid at home. She took Dian with her all the time. “I kept her right there at the hospital with me, and each day I went to the hospital I took Dian with me and brought her home again at night.”
Within days, Fely was running the smaller club, and Mamerto Geronimo stayed on as the bartender. His sister went off to the hills to fight with the guerrillas. Fely hired a piano player to accompany her on the Japanese songs that catered to lonesome soldiers. Fely disregarded the warnings of the Japanese—she was going to send whatever she could up to the guerrillas. The messengers made several more trips and delivered some supplies, perhaps along with an intelligence report or two gathered on the street. Tsubaki Club was no longer a prime destination for Japanese officers, and sources of information had mostly dried up. Claire’s intelligence operation was finished.
• • •
Ramón Amusategui’s brother, José Maria, told Judge Roxas about the arrests. The judge had continued meeting with Ramón almost daily, even after the arrest of Juan Elizalde. José Maria reported that “a Filipina girl, Helen, had given names and code names under torture.” The underground organization had been deactivated.
Judge Roxas had no further way to contact Claire or Ramón or German Eroles or any of the other detainees. Torture was to be expected. He knew from the scant testimony of those who had returned from Fort Santiago that they would be kept isolated, caged in with little food and water. Some of them would be broken; others would not. He likely knew what Ramón had told everyone else: “Blame everything on me.”
If there was any saving grace in the mass arrests, it was that Claire and many of her comrades had a chance before they were arrested to read the final news summary prepared by Ramón, which probably also circulated around the city, although German Eroles and Helen Petkoff could not do their normal rounds of delivery. If there could be any comfort, the United States was now roaring back toward the Philippines. Shortwave radio broadcasts confirmed on May 9 that American-led bombing raids had blasted Hollandia in New Guinea. Most uplifting was word that the offensive in New Guinea “gave the Allies three strategic airfields within striking distance of the Philippines.” That exciting war dispatch was followed by a progression of victories: a report on May 19 that General MacArthur was “leap-frogging” beyond Hollandia and even farther west toward the Wakde Islands off Indonesia (not to be confused with Wake Island, thousands of miles to the northeast). It had to have been some balm to their deprivations and sufferings—even the men and women who were beaten and tortured and lay ill in their fetid prisons. General MacArthur was en route and they had survived. One other dispatch hinted at that: The Japanese Domei News Agency admitted on May 7, 1944, what had long been evident on the ground: All of the Japanese efforts to subjugate the Filipino people had been a failure. The Domei dispatch said that “Filipinos have been so ‘bewitched’ for years by American ‘motion pictures and dancing’ that efforts of Japanese propagandists to ‘banish America’ from the Philippines has [sic] not been ‘an easy matter.’”
A Letter from Boone
Bataan, May 1944
IN THE JUNGLE, in the heat, on the run, never knowing whether he would survive the day, John Boone took solace in the books Claire sent up-country through her informal lending library. The most recent was Death in Venice and Other Stories, a collection by the German writer in exile Thomas Mann. The writing was poignant and Boone wanted to read it more than once. “Wrapped in his cloak, a book in his lap, our traveler rested; the hours slipped by unawares.”
Something in Mann’s writing struck Boone, perhaps the contemplative, somber tone, introspection, and the sense of being lost in time. He was tempted, he said, to hold on to the book of Mann’s short stories. “He is a favorite of mine . . . but my conscience got me.” He was sending the book back to Manila along with a chatty note and a request for more supplies.
Boone had no idea that Claire might never read this message, completed on June 4, two weeks after the Kempeitai had taken her. He was still waiting for Zigzag, their six-fingered courier, to arrive for the next pickup.
The message mixed gossip with a report on ramped-up preparations for an invasion. Boone told Claire he could sense that the Japanese military was becoming skilled and had sent more men dedicated to apprehending the guerrillas and their underground operatives in Manila. His spies at Kempeitai headquarters reported that Nagahama had sent an additional fifteen agents to Bataan and forty-seven more to Pampanga, to the
northeast. “God knows how many in Manila—so watch your step.”
The Japanese occupying army was slowly mounting new defenses in Manila for an anticipated American attack. More and more Japanese soldiers were arriving in Manila on troop transports, some disguised as hospital ships. Residents could see the influx of men as well as the result—Japanese authorities were forcing many families to abandon their apartments and houses and confiscating them to house the newly arrived soldiers. The war was not going well for Japan or for its Nazi allies, but the response was to dig in and work harder. Hideki Tojo, who served as both prime minister and minister of war in the imperial government, faced increased criticism as the Allies captured more and more territory in the central and southern Pacific. Instead of backing off, he consolidated his own power in February by ousting the army chief of staff and taking that third position for himself. However, in July Tojo was ousted from the government after U.S. forces captured Saipan in the Mariana Islands—a perfect staging point for MacArthur’s pledged return to the Philippines.
Tojo’s departure was a sign of Japan’s plight, evident to both sides in the Philippines. Japanese commanders in Manila doubled down, working harder than ever. Nagahama and military intelligence were still tracking the guerrillas, and Boone was now on their radar.
“A guerrilla group of about 20, led by an American, Capt Boone, calls itself the ‘Bataan Sector Guerrilla Unit,’” read one intelligence report. “They have infiltrated into the mountains of Santa Rita in northern Bataan to maintain liaison with other guerrilla units and to raise funds for weapons and materials. The garrison unit attacked them.”
The report far underestimated the strength of Boone’s forces, who were dispersed and hidden among the civilian populace. But the report did include a list of Boone’s officers, Benton Rigara, Antonio Trinidad, Kait Bachagu, and Juan Naparo.
Boone knew he was a target of Japanese military intelligence, because he had spies right inside Kempeitai headquarters. However, he had to follow his own advice to Claire: “Watch your step.” His message to Claire had two related underlying characteristics—one was the focus on security concerns and the other was his unreserved confidence that his communication link was secure and that Claire was his loyal ally. Boone trusted Claire fully and implicitly, and the trust was well founded. Once Claire was seized and tortured, she could have exposed the link with Boone, with disastrous results. But Claire was a steadfast combatant, and so was everyone working with her at the club.
When Boone turned to sensitive information about Ramsey’s recent operations, he began with a warning: “Please be careful of this information. Destroy when read.” Boone told Claire that a number of Ed Ramsey’s intelligence operatives had been captured inside the city. He then issued a third warning to Claire—far too late. “I don’t think these boys will talk, but you must be very careful these days.” Boone said that fatigue was setting in beyond the hunger and deprivation, although news about the war was encouraging.
Ramsey, he said, had gone to meet up with the commando team that had come ashore at Mindoro with Chick Parsons from the Narwhal. The mission of the commandos, led by Major Lawrence Phillips (no relation to John Phillips) was to establish a series of radio surveillance stations along the coast. Japanese spotters and spies had found the commandos and launched an attack, killing Major Phillips and several of the men with him. The attack delayed Parsons’s plan for island-wide radio communications in Luzon, but Boone was confident they would soon be in direct contact with General MacArthur.
Ramsey replaced Major Phillips on the rendezvous with Parsons and other guerrilla leaders. Despite setbacks, Parsons offered Ramsey and the others an uplifting report. Many of the Filipinos and Americans traveling with Parsons on the Narwhal had just been stateside. “They told Ramsey that everything is well in hand at home,” Boone wrote. “We must just take it easy.” When the meeting with Parsons and the others was over, Ramsey received the offer to hop on board. “Ramsey turned down a chance to go to Australia. What do you think of that?”
As tempting as it was, Ramsey said he did not consider the offer for more than an instant. “I was no longer merely with the Filipino people; I was of them. I was not simply organizing among them; I had grown organically to be a part of them. Their struggle had become my struggle, and their liberation, inevitably, would be mine as well.” Ramsey was proud to have made and announced his decision to remain in the Philippines before one of the other guerrilla leaders handed a message to him. “It was a radio signal from Australia addressed to me. . . . Request that you return to Luzon and command of your resistance forces.” It was signed by General MacArthur himself.
The guerrilla confab at Mindoro and the steadily improving radio communications from MacArthur’s Pacific Command were a sign that the organized resistance was maturing to prepare for an eventual invasion. Boone’s forces on Luzon had now grown to seven thousand troops. In addition, he reported that there were thirty thousand new guerrilla recruits on Mindanao alone. Yet Boone and the others were facing potential attacks from all around them. As he wrote in his message to Claire, there was more pressure than ever from Japanese military intelligence. Meanwhile, the Japanese-created Philippine Constabulary had been circulating in Bataan. The constabulary was now fighting with tenant farmers and had even had a skirmish with Boone’s units.
Boone’s men and other guerrilla bands sometimes ambushed trucks, stole weapons, and sabotaged utilities serving Japanese installations. While earlier orders from MacArthur had been to hold back from direct contact with Japanese troops, encounters were becoming more frequent. Still, the first order of business was to prepare for the U.S. invasion, which seemed to be coming in a matter of months. Reports of American victories were coming through almost daily. Boone had one dangerous distraction: He had not been able to normalize relations with the Huks, the Filipino Maoist communist fighters who fought the Japanese and at the same time challenged other anti-Japanese guerrillas for territory and food supplies. Boone and the other guerrilla commanders cheered when the Huks launched fierce attacks on Japanese troops. “We must give credit where credit is due,” Boone said. He had almost given up hope of coordinating with the Maoist units. Though he had a temporary agreement running those spring months, he thought they would end up fighting, the equivalent of a civil war between two groups that should be allies. “We must prepare to put Huk in their place. I think we can whip them in short order because they are just about out of ammunition.”
After finishing his report on the latest war news and gossip, Boone asked Claire for some new supplies. He needed cooking oil and clothing, especially underwear and shirts. He was even looking for mentholatum rub, recommended by the doctor who was checking up on his and Mellie’s baby son, Phil. The child had a persistent cold, although in general the baby was “fat and healthy and growing like wildfire every day.” Along with the book of short stories and the message, Boone attached a receipt from May 15, Claire’s final shipment.
In retrospect, Boone’s message to Claire was bittersweet; it demonstrated how beholden he was to her for her support and friendship while warning that the danger level for all of them was high. Boone kept a copy in his files, but it is not known whether the original ever reached Manila. Fely did send a new supply run, whether or not she received it. If the original message had not been sent, Boone would have kept the lending-library copy of Thomas Mann’s short stories—a sad reminder of his friend Claire, who had disappeared into the Japanese prison system.
Zigzag did make it into Manila eventually, either with this message or with a new one for Fely directly. Fely gathered the supplies she could and sent them up to Boone’s hideout in the hills. It was one of the final shipments from Manila. After the crackdown and increased patrols, the danger had grown immensely. Even if Pacio and Zigzag could make it through, prices were soaring and the new, downsized Tsubaki Club was making less money. Although Fely still sang her Japanese and Filipino folk
songs to charmed Japanese soldiers, the men noticed that the long-legged proprietress was missing in action.
PART THREE
■ ■ ■
Survival
You Are High Pockets
Japanese Administration Building, Manila, May 24, 1944
CLAIRE WAS SURPRISED when the destination for her captivity was not Fort Santiago. Her captors drove instead a few blocks from the club to the Japanese Administration Building on San Luis Avenue and led her to a cell. It was a barren room with a cement floor and no furniture, just a hole in the floor for use as a toilet with a pipe trickling water into it. The door slammed shut.
She paced back and forth, then sat on the floor and waited for several hours without knowing what to expect. She was about to bang on the door of the cell and ask for water when she heard an automobile stopping. Shortly a guard came in and blindfolded her. She could hear people bringing in chairs and a desk as she stood against one wall.
A man then spoke and addressed her by her code name: “High Pockets,” he said, “answer our questions truthfully, and you may soon be out.”
At least some of her inquisitors spoke English, and she thought she recognized one or more of the voices. She wondered whether that was the reason that she was wearing a blindfold. The men let her know what they already knew: “We know you are not an Italian.”
“It is true,” she replied. “I am an American by birth [but] my status is that of a Philippine national . . .”
“Do you deny that you have written and received letters from Cabanatuan?” one inquisitor asked. Claire thought quickly about how much she should say and how much she should not say. She figured they already had this information because Ramón, Horacio Manaloto, and Helen Petkoff had been arrested before her. Even if they had not spoken, the Japanese probably had the evidence already.