As Good As Dead

by Stephen L. Moore

  Bogue, Barta, and McDole were introduced to Mayor and his family as they were taken into the open-air mountainside home for treatment. McDole, still suffering from malaria, would never forget young Mary Anne Mayor, who seemed so genuinely concerned with his health. One day, as he lay in a bamboo hut with a burning fever, he looked up to see the girl staring at him.20

  “You want drink?” she said.

  “Yes,” he croaked.

  She would bring him water and stare at the skinny man whose skin was curiously white in places not bronzed by the sun. Her mother eased the suffering of those fighting malaria, and she helped Joe Barta remove worms from his wound. As the days passed at Brooke’s Point, the three Americans began regaining their strength, shaking their ailments, and putting on pounds as they took in more solid foods.

  McDole was soon energetic enough to announce to Captain Mayor that he was not content to ride out the war while awaiting rescue. He shared a plan of sailing by boat to Balabac Island, located about nineteen miles southwest of the southern tip of Palawan. Mac believed they could sail on to Borneo, which lay about thirty-eight miles north of Balabac, then proceed to Australia. But his plans were cut short when Mayor announced that a radio message had been received from MacArthur’s forces in Australia. The Americans were to stay put until a rescue team could be sent for them.

  A few days later, a revitalized McDole helped carry crates of .30-caliber ammunition delivered by submarine for the use of the guerrillas’ M-1 carbines. He became choked up when he set down one of the wooden boxes and noticed, stamped on its side, DES MOINES, IOWA, ORDNANCE PLANT. The plant was only eight miles from his hometown in Urbandale. Mac would later learn that his mother had been working at the facility since early in the war.21

  Bogue, McDole, and Barta would spend three weeks in the hills above Brooke’s Point. As with the previous group of survivors, it took time to coordinate a rescue plane with Australia. Sergeant Placido and his coastwatchers continued to work out the details until they received word that a PBY flying boat would be sent in the next day, January 21, 1945.

  The trio made its way to the beach area the next morning—five long weeks since the massacre at Puerto Princesa. Mayor’s men set the signal fires and waited. Around 0900, when they heard the engines of a Catalina PBY-5 approaching the coast, several Filipinos scrambled up on coconut trees to signal an all clear to the pilot by lighting smudge pots. Lieutenant Kenneth Felix Brissette, a Navy pilot of Patrol Bombing Squadron 54, came skimming in over the waves. White spray splashed skyward as the plane settled on the water near Brooke’s Point on January 21, while a dozen Navy fighters circled overhead.22

  Bogue, Barta, and McDole were greeted by smiling airmen who handed them their first sodas and candy bars in three years as the PBY lifted into the air. Lieutenant Brissette landed briefly at Mindanao for refueling before he continued to the U.S. base at Tacloban on Leyte Island, where the three Americans were taken on board the hospital ship USS Tangier for evaluation and treatment. They noted the curious stares of many Tangier sailors as they stepped onto the deck and were helped to bunks below. The American servicemen had not seen the horrors of abused and starved POWs.

  *

  HALF A WORLD away, news of the recovery of nine survivors from the Palawan Massacre was being shared with some of their families.

  Dessa McDole answered a knock on her front door in Urbandale, Iowa, on January 19, 1944. She was greeted by a Western Union telegram messenger, a sight that would send terror into any mother’s heart. As she began reading the brief telegram, her fears melted away. The McDoles were informed that although it was still confidential, their son, Glenn W. McDole, U.S. Marine Corps, “has escaped from the Japanese prison camp in which he was interned. He is in friendly hands, but may be unable to communicate with his family.”23

  Dessa quickly sent word to her family and had the younger children escorted home from school to share the good news. She explained that Glenn had escaped from the Japanese, was still in the process of completing his passage to freedom, and that the family must keep the information completely secret. In the weeks to come, she would receive further news in the form of a letter from Mac that he had been returned into American hands and would be home fairly soon.

  20

  THE LONG ROAD HOME

  SMITTY WAS GRATEFUL to be alive, but he soon found freedom to be a difficult adjustment. He grew irritated with the life on Morotai and was eager to be on his way back home. There was plenty of food available at the base, and even an occasional beer, but his nerves were still on edge, as evidenced one day as he moved through the chow line. Spotting a pie, he grabbed it and greedily began devouring the dessert with a fork. Another soldier loudly griped that certain people were hogging all the pie. Smitty listened to the man until his temper boiled over.1

  “Do you want this damned pie?” he snapped.

  The man growled, “Yeah, I want some of that!”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what,” Smitty shot back. “I’m going to give you all of it!”

  With that, he stood and slammed the pie right into the soldier’s face. A scrap broke out until sentries pulled the men apart. In response, Army brass put an end to the frazzled former POWs’ lining up in the enlisted men’s mess hall and ordered them to use the officers’ chow line.

  Still, Smitty’s group of survivors was being treated well enough at the 155th General Hospital. The men put on weight, and the nourishment quickly dissipated most of the sores and rashes that had once covered their bodies. They endured endless hours of recounting all aspects of the massacre and their escape to the G-2 intelligence officers. They also sat for the making of a 35mm film to discuss their ordeals on Corregidor and Palawan, intended to document the atrocities and serve as a historical documentary.2

  Smitty, Ernie Koblos, Gene Nielsen, Ed Petry, Willie Balchus, and Beto Pacheco remained on Morotai for thirteen days before they were finally flown on January 19 to Hollandia, New Guinea. The commander of the 51st General Hospital at Hollandia offered them hope that they would be heading home soon, but they were instead subjected to more rounds of interrogation about the names of the massacre victims. The escapees were slowly split up into separate wards. Petry was moved first due to a tropical ulcer on his bullet-smashed ankle, and then Smitty was relocated when he broke out with malaria. Nielsen was shifted to another ward for an operation on the gunshot wound in his leg, and Pacheco was then split from Koblos when Koblos was treated for his broken arm.3

  Paperwork and more delays ensued. On March 2, the survivors finally boarded a battle-gray troop transport ship, the USS General A. E. Anderson. It was packed with thousands of servicemen on rotation furlough. In addition, 272 recently liberated Cabanatuan POWs would journey home alongside the six Palawan Massacre survivors who had triggered their rescue mission. Tokyo Rose, the female voice of Japan’s propaganda radio broadcasts, unnerved the passengers with continual announcements during the ensuing days in which she promised that the Anderson would be sunk by waiting Japanese submarines.4

  The delays and enemy threats only added to Smitty’s stress. He felt that their years as POWs, followed by their narrow escapes from certain death, should have earned his group quick returns to their families. Instead, they had been shuffled between bases for two months and were resigned to riding out a long Pacific voyage on an overcrowded troop ship blacked out to prevent air attacks. Smitty’s only satisfaction was that each mile between his ship and the Philippines brought him one step closer to his East Texas home.

  An intelligence officer (far left) interviews the first six Palawan Massacre survivors on Morotai Island. (From second on left): Gene Nielsen, Ed Petry, Beto Pacheco, Ernie Koblos, Willie Balchus, and Willie “Smitty” Smith.

  NATIONAL ARCHIVES

  *

  MAC MCDOLE, JOE Barta, and Doug Bogue had spent two days resting on board the Tangier when they were notified on January 23 that Vice Admiral Daniel Edward Barbey wished to see them. They were taken to the Commander,
7th Fleet’s headquarters at Tolosa on Leyte, to be interviewed. Though the former POWs had put on some weight after several days of good Navy chow, their emaciated frames were still shocking enough that at first glance the surprised admiral said, “You guys look like you’ve been through hell.”5

  Barbey handed each man a beer, told them to relax, and asked them to explain what they had been through. They spent the next hour relating the details of their captures in early 1942, their slave labor on Palawan Island, and the final massacre from which they had escaped. The admiral was clearly moved by their stories. Bogue, in a statement to intelligence officers on Leyte, summarized their entire ordeal: “The word for war is hell, but there is no word for being a prisoner of war of the Japs.”

  Barbey promised to have them on their way to Washington, DC, the following morning. McDole, Barta, and Bogue were given top priority on January 24 to head back for further interrogation as others were bumped off flights to make room. They left with orders to tell no one about what they had survived, as the Navy feared word of their ordeal and escape could endanger the lives of other POWs still held in the Philippines.

  The trio was first flown to Hawaii, where the men underwent another round of debriefing while they waited for their next flight. As their plane was being refueled, an Army major boarded, took a seat next to the Palawan survivors, and soon struck up a conversation. McDole found the major to be almost unpleasant as he talked incessantly, peppering them with questions. At one point, he said, “I heard there are some escaped POWs on board.”6

  Bogue said, “Yeah, we heard the same thing.”

  The major kept it up, wondering aloud where the POWs were sitting. McDole said his guess was they were among the stretcher-bound men in the back of the aircraft. The major continued his questioning until the plane touched down in San Diego hours later, where he finally confessed he had been sent along to test the survivors’ ability to keep their secrets confidential. He admitted that they had passed with flying colors and were trusted enough to continue their journey to DC solo.

  As they disembarked the aircraft, McDole kissed the ground. He swore he would never leave the United States again. Free at last! he thought. He, Barta, and Bogue boarded another plane for Washington, stopping for fuel in Omaha before being forced to land in Chicago due to bad weather. They finished their trip to Washington by train, where they spent the next week with intelligence officers, who compiled their collective story as Evasion and Escape (E&E) Report No. 23, filed on February 23, 1945.

  The three continued to eat well and put on weight each day before boarding a train for a cross-country passage. Traveling with his two Palawan companions, McDole was first to arrive home when the train rolled into the town of Ames, Iowa. It was February 6, Mac’s twenty-fourth birthday. He hoped to walk into his house in nearby Urbandale and surprise his family, but word had leaked out that he was homeward bound. As the train pulled into the station at Ames, Barta hollered out, “Mac, by the way you’ve described your family, I swear to God that’s them looking in the window right now!”7

  Mac glanced out and spotted his sisters. He jumped from his seat and raced down the steps from the train. There before him were his mother, Dessa, as well as siblings Colleen, Margaret, Max, and baby brother, Joe. LeRoy Sexton, Mac’s old boxing buddy from high school, was also there as a family member—his brother-in-law since marrying Colleen. There were plenty of hugs and tears, and Mac could not contain his own waterworks. In the car riding back to Urbandale, Mac learned that his father, David McDole, had died on December 14, 1943—exactly one year before the Palawan Massacre.

  From Iowa, Bogue and Barta continued on to California. Weeks later, on March 4, Doug Bogue was finally reunited with his parents in Los Angeles. He would enjoy many personal home-cooked favorites in the days ahead, but his first request was for his mother’s French toast. The following day, he granted an exclusive interview to the Los Angeles Examiner, in which he related the massacre and some details of his escape with the help of local Filipinos. One week later, Bogue married his girlfriend, Betty Wearing, who had waited for him throughout the war. The wedding was followed by a honeymoon in Salt Lake City as he tried to put his prisoner of war experience behind him.

  When Joe Barta arrived in California, his aunt Minnie took him in to recover. He had weighed only ninety-eight pounds when he escaped from Palawan, but he soon managed to regain twenty-two pounds, after returning to a stable diet.

  *

  AS THE FIRST three survivors were settling back into life in the United States, two others were still hiding amid the jungles of Palawan, evading Japanese soldiers.

  Pop Daniels had been laid up for weeks in the home of Emilio Natalico and Dodong Fuertes. The locals took good care of the Army Air Force survivor until the wounds in his legs healed enough to allow him to begin walking. During the next week, Filipino guerrillas slowly moved Daniels northward to their stronghold at Bacungan, where he was again allowed to rest and recover.8

  Mo Deal was also convalescing from his many bayonet and gunshot wounds, thanks to the care afforded him by Triny Mendoza. Captain Mayor’s guerrillas had carried him northward to receive attention from a local doctor before he was relocated during January from Babuyan toward the far northern end of Palawan. By February 8, he had reached the barangay of Bantulan, located in the municipality of Taytay. Deal was introduced to Master Sergeant Eutiquio Cabais, whose coastwatcher unit had been landed with its communication equipment by the submarine USS Seawolf in August 1944. Cabais sent word via radio to Australia that day, informing the Allies of the safe arrival of an American soldier who had escaped the massacre. He would remain in their safekeeping until details for his rescue could be worked out.

  During that time, American forces were preparing to make a full invasion of Palawan Island. Two days after Deal reached Bantulan, the first American invaders arrived on February 10 at Babuyan, where Deal had recently stayed. Two U.S. Navy PT boats brought seven soldiers to coordinate with local guerrillas on laying the groundwork for American troop landings. The advance group was greeted with thunderous applause from the refugee Filipino families as they met with Major Pablo Muyco and others of the Palawan guerrilla network.9

  Muyco offered intelligence on enemy positions and strength around Puerto Princesa, where he estimated 1,285 Japanese soldiers were stationed. The PT boats returned to base at Mindoro with several men from Captain Mayor’s company to help guide the American liberation force of the 41st Division of the 8th Army. Sergeant Placido’s coastwatchers stayed very busy during the next two weeks, communicating with the 8th Army Headquarters and the Palawan Task Force stations.10

  Sergeant Cabais radioed MacArthur’s headquarters in Australia on February 13 to advise that Corporal Deal was still “here at our control station at Bantulan.” Cabais recommended a suitable location for rescue plane contact to be the northwest cove of Icadambanuan Island, about three miles due northeast of Bantulan and due east of Santa Cruz Point. MacArthur’s headquarters radioed that a PBY would be sent the following day to the recommended position, where the guerrillas were to have three signal fires burning fifty yards apart on the beach.

  Word came back that the rendezvous would be rescheduled to February 15, but the rescue plane that arrived that day merely circled the location twice and flew away. Cabais radioed MacArthur’s headquarters to request another attempt to pick up Mo Deal, and followed with another dispatch on February 17, saying that his guerrillas had boats standing by to help with the supplies. Cabais was becoming frustrated by February 18; his men and their boats had been tied up for three days waiting for a rescue plane.

  MacArthur’s headquarters replied that an attempt to pick up Deal had been canceled due to rough waters. “Another attempt will be made on 20 February at about 1130,” they advised. This time, everything worked as planned. The Luzon-based rescue aircraft was piloted by Lieutenant G. D. Mulford of Patrol Bombing Squadron 17, tasked with flights for photo reconnaissance, transporting supplies to
guerrilla forces, and evacuating downed airmen, guerrillas, and battle casualties.11

  Mulford landed his PBY on February 20 near Bantulan and brought fifteen hundred pounds of supplies to the Palawan guerrillas. In return, his crew evacuated Mo Deal, who spent time in the Philippines recovering before being moved to New Guinea in early March for treatment. His parents in Yuba City, California, finally received word from the military that he was one of only a handful of Americans to escape the POW camp massacre.

  Mrs. Pearl Deal had not heard from her son Elmo since July 1944, when a postcard arrived from his camp. In his classic wise-guy nature, her son had tried to keep his sense of humor in the fifty-word Red Cross message. “Celebrate the holidays for me also,” Deal wrote on one card. “Am exercising vigorously and eating heartily.” In another, he told his parents, “Would appreciate a carton of Dukes and a pair of Levi’s.”

  Now she was handed an official Western Union telegram informing her that her son had been rescued by American forces “and is now safe.” Mo’s brothers, Floyd Deal, a corporal in the Army stationed in North Carolina, and Navy seaman Gerald Deal, had also survived the war. Mrs. Deal celebrated the news with her daughter, Darlene Deal Bishop, as local newspapermen recorded their jubilant reactions. A statement from Elmo Deal was released on March 3 via the AP news wire in which he briefly recounted how the Japanese had slaughtered American prisoners with machine guns and gasoline.

  On March 22, he underwent a five-hour operation on his right arm to mend some of the bayonet damage. Three days later, he felt well enough to write to his family. Struggling to print using his left hand, he explained he was “just beginning to feel myself again. This old Army chow sure tastes good after three years on rice and soup. Finally got a partial pay of $30, first money since December 1941. Of course, the money is different over here. It is in Australian pounds.”12