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Post by friscohare on May 7, 2012 1:08:52 GMT -5
Roy Diaz reads engravings on his Army canteen cup listing the places where he served in World War II, including the three-month Battle of Bataan in the Philippines at his home in Salinas. Diaz is Salinas' last Bataan Death March survivorRoy Diaz and Lorraine Sayers Diaz: Appreciation for special veterans is appreciated[/u][/url][/size] (The Californian.com, 05/04/12) April 14, marked the 70th anniversary of the 194th Company C Tank Battalion luncheon at the Elks Lodge Salinas. The last local survivors of the Bataan death march, Roy Diaz and Norman Rose of San Jose, came. Manuel Nevarez of Sparks, Nev. was unable to come. Many widows of P.O.W.s, daughters, sons and brothers attended. Normandy Rose, the daughter of Norman Rose, had a very touching moment that she shared in the Elks bulletin. She wrote about Roy Diaz and Norman Rose shaking hands. They hadn't seen each other for 10 years, and looked at each other in the eyes with big tears. It was a moment I will never forget. They knew that they were the only two people on Earth who could possibly ever understand what a miracle it is to still be alive. We would like to thank the Salinas Elks Lodge, Casandra Cleave and Barry Wilson for making this all possible, and Martin Jefferson for bringing his halftrack. Mayor Donohue was unable to come since he was working on a major project. The City Council sent a plaque of recognition. Aides from Rep. Sam Farr's office came. Sen. Anthony Cannella of the 12th Senate District came. U.S. Sen. Dianne Feinstein sent a letter of commendation, as did David Pendergrass, the mayor of Sand City. Assemblyman Luis Alejo came with two of his aides. County Supervisor Simon Salinas came, bringing a resolution plaque. The mayor of Monterey, Chuck Della Sala, came, as did the 149th Armor Regiment. Honorary Command Sgt Maj. Gary Johnson and Arthur Nicholas Jr. came and presented the 149th regiment coin. Proceeds from the dinner will go to the Veterans Transition Center in Marina. Roy would also like to thank Mayor Donahue and Salinas City Council for naming a street after him at Airport Boulevard in Salinas, and everyone that came.
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Post by friscohare on May 7, 2012 1:12:39 GMT -5
Fort Worth man's 3-year ordeal as a POW began 70 years ago[/u][/url][/size] (Chicago Tribune, 05/05/12) FORT WORTH — In the Camacho household, Cinco de Mayo isn't celebrated. The holiday commemorates Mexico's famous defeat of the French at the Battle of Puebla. But May 5 means something else entirely to Arturo Camacho. May 5, 1942, was the last taste of freedom for Camacho for a long time, before roughly 1,200 days of inhuman captivity, savage beatings and unimaginable hunger and cold. Seventy years ago Sunday, the island of Corregidor fell to the Japanese Imperial Army, a stinging defeat for the ill-prepared U.S. military but an equally stark testament to valor in the face of overwhelming odds. The victories tend to be remembered better, and Corregidor is less familiar to Americans with every passing year. Even Camacho, a West Texan who just celebrated his 90th birthday at his house in southwest Fort Worth, is forgetting some of it. "Gosh, don't ask me that," he said. "I'm too old to remember that." But some of his forgetfulness isn't sincere. Surviving those years just isn't a subject he shares with a lot of people, including Elisa, his wife of 65 years. He has spent years minimizing what he experienced. His war stories, written down some years ago for his children and grandchildren, included a line stating that, out of respect for his family, he did not tell everything. "He has always told me that he had it better than other people," his wife said. "I would read these books by other people and ask him, 'Did this happen to you?' He would say 'yes.' 'Did this happen to you?' He would say 'yes.' I don't think he had it any better." After all these years of marriage, she still sometimes weeps when she thinks about what might have happened to him. Volunteering to serveCamacho was born and raised in Ranger, 90 miles west of Fort Worth. He returned there after the war and worked for the U.S. Postal Service until he retired and moved to Fort Worth to be near children and grandchildren. As a teenager in Ranger, he had a job at a plant nursery but knew he needed to do more to help his mother, who was widowed and trying to raise children during the Depression. "Mother needed more help from me than she was getting," he said. He and a friend enlisted in the Army in February 1941. He still remembers the instructions from his boss, a World War I veteran: Never volunteer for anything. Before he knew it, he and his friend were aboard a troopship heading across the Pacific Ocean to the Philippines, two of thousands of soldiers rushed to the island chain to try to prevent Japanese aggression in the Pacific. Camacho served in the 60th Coastal Artillery as a member of a searchlight crew, training his eyes and ears constantly to better detect enemy aircraft. In November 1941, Camacho's unit was sent to the Bataan Peninsula on the main island. On Dec. 8, 1941, Camacho was standing in the chow line when everyone heard the news that Pearl Harbor had been attacked and that the Japanese had begun attacking the Philippines. He doesn't remember being surprised. "It looked to me as a young soldier that we had been preparing for something for a long time," he said. A prisoner of the JapaneseOver the next three months, U.S. and Filipino forces under Gen. Douglas MacArthur fought an increasingly futile battle. President Franklin D. Roosevelt ordered MacArthur off the islands in March. On about April 8, Camacho and many other troops hurriedly destroyed all the equipment they could on Bataan before boarding a ship to a rocky island named Corregidor in the mouth of Manila Bay. The depleted survivors on Bataan surrendered April 9. On Corregidor, Camacho learned how to operate a giant mortar, knowing that it was probably only a matter of time before the island would fall too. On May 6, no longer able to mount a resistance in the face of the onslaught of Japanese, Lt. Gen. Jonathan Wainwright surrendered the U.S. and Filipino troops on Corregidor. By the time Camacho became a prisoner of the Japanese, malaria came too. He can remember how weak and fevered he felt, but never considered going to "sick call." "I didn't want to leave my bunch," he said. Of course, the Army didn't know anything about what happened to Camacho. The government listed him as missing in action. His family in Ranger just hung onto hope, even as his younger brother joined the 101st Airborne Division and deployed to Europe. "Twenty-two months his mother didn't know what had happened to him," his wife said. "I wasn't married to him, but I knew his family." Camacho was a prisoner in the Philippines until the summer of 1944, working on labor details, at times suffering from malaria and beriberi and always suffering from hunger and physical abuse. The worst was when he had to work burial detail. It took several weeks on a "hell ship" to make the passage to Japan, where he was taken to the Mukaijima prison camp. He was lucky to have survived the winter of '44 --a lot of men didn't. But he was able to send his mother a postcard that winter. "Dearest Mom, Still OK. Enjoying cold weather again. Wishing all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Don't worry. Keep home fires burning." Endurance and freedomCamacho remembers Japanese children taunting him about Roosevelt's death. He had never even heard of Harry Truman, who was elected vice president in 1944. He enjoys telling a story about grabbing two handfuls of dried fish while on a work detail and stuffing them into his shirt, only to have a guard come and stand next to him. It was a very long few minutes until the guard walked away, and the prisoners could stuff their mouths with the dried fish. "Anytime we could steal food, we did," he said. More and more U.S. B-29 Superfortresses flew over Japan on bombing raids, and one morning in 1945 Camacho felt the ground shake beneath him. Everyone in the camp thought it was an earthquake. Weeks later, they found out it was the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, only 30 miles away. Not long after, the commander of the POWs, a British officer, gathered the men. "'I've got some bloody good news for you, chaps,'" Camacho remembers him saying. "'You don't have to work today. The war is over, and Japan has surrendered. The Japanese commander of this camp is worried about your health.'" That got a good laugh. It was still several weeks before U.S. troops arrived to move the prisoners out of their camp, although they received food drops from airplanes. He spent several more weeks in transit to Fort Lewis, Wash. "They fattened him up before letting him go to his family," his wife said. "They couldn't let their families see what they looked like." His Army service and his time as a prisoner of war still touches his pride. He served as commander of the Fort Worth chapter of ex-POWs and has long been active in POW and MIA issues. But he won't stand for pity, and he seems to have little tolerance for stories about how terrible it was for such a young man. He just endured what he had to. "I took it one day at a time," he said.
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Post by friscohare on May 7, 2012 1:15:06 GMT -5
FROM CORREGIDOR TO VISTA, WWII MARINE IS A SURVIVAL EXPERT [/u][/url][/size] (UT San Diego, 05/06/12) If you pass on the street an old man with white hair, flannel shirt and worn bluejeans moving gingerly with the ache of arthritis and a heart prone to misbehavior, you normally just glance and walk on by. But if that man is Bob Farner, stop and look back at a real-life Dr. Dolittle who is also a war hero. And that’s using “hero” in its true meaning. Stored at home are a Silver Star, a Bronze Star and two Purple Hearts. The man comes across as anything but heroic. He’s a big, bluff fellow with no pretension. He lives in a small home in Vista that could use a younger man’s upkeep. It has a large, bare backyard filled with ducks, fangy mongrels, an emu that eats romaine lettuce and even a big alligator, all of which are still alive because he took them in. Except for the gator, who is not welcome in polite society outside his pen, the animals walk free. The ducks waddle by a streetwise German shepherd as though they’re first cousins. Farner, 89, is a retired Marine noncom who became a school janitor. He may be the only old-time sergeant who says gosh, golly and darn. He is a retired, self-taught wildlife rehabilitator who has the touch to soothe the savage beast, or at least the predator with jaws that throw sparks when they snap. He once had a mountain lion and a coyote that couldn’t be returned to the wild, so he used them to educate schoolchildren. The cougar would ride in the front seat with him; the coyote would sleep at night on his bed. But hidden far deeper than his friendly face are memories of brutality, barbed wire and the stare of death. Back in spring 1942, he was burrowed into the undergrowth on Corregidor, the small Manila Bay island where Gen. MacArthur and a bedraggled group of U.S. troops, Filipino soldiers and medical personnel were besieged by attacking Japanese troops. He served as a guard for MacArthur there. Farner was an aggressive fighter. After the enemy managed the short trip across the water to Corregidor, he and others were waiting. “I loved my BAR,” he says at the memory of his heavy, large-caliber automatic weapon. “I truly did love that rifle. But one time when I let loose, a Marine near me shouted, ‘Get away from us with that d**n thing. It’s drawing all the fire.’ I remember when this Jap tank came through the undergrowth, and this officer was standing in the turret. I got a good bead, and pop!” World War II Marines still tend to be unapologetic; it’s not hatred, just the way it was. Farner says the troops had plenty of fight, but not much medicine, ammunition, food or hope. He speaks with frustration still to this day of a low-flying enemy plane that circled his position as the time of surrender neared. “I ran to a .50-caliber and swung it around and pointed it, then the plate fell out. Darn it! I coulda got that plane.” At the surrender on April 9, when a captain carrying a white flag told Farner to turn in his BAR, he protested in astonishment. “Hell, we can beat these guys,” he said. But he had to follow orders, so he broke down his rifle and threw away the parts, then joined the others. When the Japanese came, they searched the Americans and Filipinos and stole what they wanted. They killed those holding Japanese souvenirs, then started them on their way. The Corregidor prisoners weren’t taken on the death march with the Bataan Peninsula prisoners, but went directly to fetid, jammed camps. And it was in those camps that the struggle to survive began and didn’t let up until victory more than three years later. Farner was a brash kid of 19 thrown into a prison where survival depended on either luck or caution. Farner must have had lots of luck. He quickly learned what brutality was. One day he saw a ripe papaya within reach just beyond the barbed wire. He grabbed it, but was seen by a guard. The same day came the reckoning. “They stood me in the yard and hit me several times across the back with a full swing of a five-foot steel rebar rod. Each time, it knocked me down. They’d make me get up and do it again. It broke both my arms. Then, they stood me with my head against a wall and had the guards walk by and punch me, knocking my head against the bricks. It fractured my skull. Gosh, that hurt.” To the guards, the spirited Farner served as a handy object lesson to the other prisoners. Farner and fellow prisoners were transported to Japan on a slow freighter where they were jammed into the dirty hold much of the time. They didn’t know it, but American submarines were making a shooting gallery of the China Sea, but the pokey old tub sailed through unscathed. In Japan, the prisoners were forced into labor details unloading ships. Farner remembers unloading bags of rice. “They searched us morning and night, but I had found a piece of hacksaw blade, and as we walked through the narrow passages in the hold, I’d reach out and slit the rice bags. The fellows behind me would then grab handfuls of rice. If they’d found that blade, I’da been killed for sure.” How did he conceal the blade? “I tied it to my thingy.” Farner would sneak into the camp kitchen and liberate rice. “I bribed the guard with cigarettes. But finally, they caught me and put me under guard. All night they kept me awake and beat me. Gosh. In the morning, two American officers were called into a meeting with the Japanese. When they came out, one said, ‘They’re going to behead you.’ ... “They took me to a room where the guards were gathered. Off to the side, a sergeant was taking practice swings with a heavy sword. The guard I’d bribed was scared and looking at me and shook his head, begging for me not to tell. The officer said I’d been caught stealing and I was gonna have my head cut off. I said, ‘You can kill me, but you can’t blame me for trying to survive.’ “Finally, they said they were just going to beat me again. And they did. They just beat the living hell out of me.” Farner spent the remaining months in the cold, in sickness and in hunger. But he survived. Today, Bob Farner can sometimes be seen in North County driving with a large dog and a parrot, both loose in the car. By looks, were the dog human, it would probably sport jailhouse tattoos. That prompts an obvious question. “No, they’re fine together,” Farner says. “The dog’s well-fed and gets lots of affection. He’s got no reason to kill. He’s not like some people.” The man knows of what he speaks.
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Post by friscohare on May 7, 2012 1:17:33 GMT -5
A note Bob James' wife, Betty was able to send to his family while she was under control of the Japanese army.Former Fillmore man still holds on to memories of Corregidor vet brother[/u][/url][/size] (Ventura County Star, 05/05/12) The last memory Vernon James has of his brother Bob is from the day in 1940 when he left the family home on Saratoga Street in Fillmore. "I remember him saying goodbye and watching him walk down the street and turn the corner to make it to the bus," Vernon said. It was the last time he would see his oldest brother. Vernon was 13 at the time. Bob was 18. The family, which included a third brother, Kenneth, moved to Ventura County from Colorado when Bob was 4. They initially lived in Ventura but settled in Fillmore where the boys' father worked as a house painter. Bob graduated from Fillmore High School in 1939 where, according to Vernon, he was a well-known football and basketball player. "All I know is I looked up to him," Vernon said. "I really admired him." Bob enlisted in the Army only months after graduating. Like most young men of the time, he was ready to do his part — to serve his country on the front lines. Though the United States was not yet at war, most knew it was a matter of time. Pressures were mounting on President Franklin Roosevelt. The Allied forces desperately needed America's help. Bob was sent to various infantry training camps throughout the United States before he received orders to board a troop transport ship bound for the Philippines in April of 1941. All the while, he wrote letters to his family in Fillmore. "He would update us when he could," Vernon recalled. "He let us know how he was doing, but could never tell us where he was." The datelines of his letters often included the wording "Somewhere, Who Knows?" Bob was sent to Clark Field in Manila and later transferred to Gen. Douglas MacArthur's headquarters as part of the detached enlisted men's list. In November, 1941, he married Betty Ferguson, an American who was living in the Philippines at the time. After the Japanese all but annihilated the American Pacific Fleet in Pearl Harbor in December 1941, they turned their attention to the Philippines, a key to succeeding in the war effort. Within days of the Pearl Harbor attack, Bob was notified that MacArthur was ordering his troops stationed in Manila to withdraw to Corregidor, an island located to the south of Luzon at the entrance of Manila Bay. The determined and relentless Japanese forces outnumbered the American and Filipino troops that nearly succumbed to disease and malnutrition on the island. The spring of 1942 would prove to be a deadly one. Weeks before, on Feb. 18, 1942, Bob wrote a short letter to his family. In it he said, "Am able to write to you again. Do not know whether or not you received my other letter I wrote to you. How is everything at home? I sure hope everybody is all right. As for myself, I am well and happy. Please do not worry about me as I am safe and nothing is going to happen to me. As yet I haven't heard from Betty in Manila, but I am sure she is all right. Tell everybody hello for me and tell them I will see them soon. Will write again as soon as I get a chance. Until then, all my love, Bob." It was the last letter he'd send home. On May 8, 1942, just two days after Gen. Jonathon Wainwright gave the order to surrender on Corregidor, Bob was taken prisoner. On May 18, 10 days later, he died at Camp O'Donnell, a nearby prison camp. "All we heard was that Bob went missing," Vernon recalled. "It wasn't until I went to the Philippines when I was in the Navy in 1946 that we found out what happened." The Army declared Bob dead in May 1944, after no record of him was found in the lists of prisoners. While in the Philippines, Vernon wrote to the American Graves Registration Service asking for records of where his brother was buried and how he died. A response, dated Aug. 19, 1946, informed him that his brother died of "peritonitis due to complications following a ruptured appendix." Vernon learned that the makeshift cemetery at Camp O'Donnell, in which Bob was originally buried, had been moved to the American Military Cemetery in Manila. He took leave from his ship, hitchhiked to the cemetery and found his brother's grave site. He wrote home to inform his family that Bob finally had been found. More than 10,000 American and Filipino men were taken as prisoners of war on Corregidor. For Vernon, the number represents thousands of other families just like his own — families who, for 70 years, have held on to the final moments spent with their loved ones. The image of Bob waving as he walked down the street that day in Fillmore in 1940 hasn't left James, not even for a moment.
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Post by friscohare on May 7, 2012 1:19:13 GMT -5
PNoy honors soldiers' bravery in Corregidor[/u][/url][/size] (Philippine Information Agency, 05/07/12) CORREGIDOR ISLAND, Cavite City, May 7 (PIA) -- "We commemorate the Fall of Corregidor 70 years ago, but more than the fall, we commemorate our soldiers’ acts of bravery and their unconditional sacrifice for country,” President Benigno S. Aquino III said in his speech. The President was the guest speaker at the 70th memorial commemoration of the Fall of Corregidor held yesterday at Dome Altar, Pacific War Memorial, Topside Corregidor Island. “Today, we pay tribute not to the strength of arms, but to the strength of spirit, because battles are won not merely through bombs and bullets, but also through the hearts of patriots burning with love for country,” he said. The President mentioned Ramon Alcaraz, a Filipino soldier stationed then in Corregidor as one among the many skilled men in uniform who took down three of the nine Japanese “Zero” fighters attacking his boat, before being captured. He said, many more Commodore Alcarazes will rise from the ranks of our military and we consider it our duty to ensure that their strength of spirit will be matched by boats, by weapons, and by sufficient their training as the truest tribute to those who have laid down their lives: a nation capable of protecting itself, a nation that can say no sacrifice will be wasted. The President also stressed that the bravery, the unity, and the sacrifice our soldiers sowed then have borne the fruit of a true democracy and that today, we are reminded that partnership and even brotherhood, are formed not only in moments of triumph, but in times of adversity. He also emphasized that every sacrifice made in this Island may guide us along the straight and righteous path we are now treading and the eternal flame of freedom lights in this Pacific War memorial may burn bright in the hearts of every generation still to come. Attendees to the event included Vice President Jejomar Binay, about 25 Cabinet members officials and members of Corregidor Foundation Inc., representatives from the US embassy, American and Filipino World War ll veterans, and officers and men in uniform. (NAC-PIA4A, Cavite City)
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Post by frank on May 9, 2012 16:35:25 GMT -5
Keep the posts coming. Regards, Frank From the Chino Airshow May 5. 2012 3 AM6 Zeros cross the field.
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Post by labrador on May 10, 2012 2:19:13 GMT -5
now that's a really rare treat. any of these originals or are they all repro?
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Post by legionnaire on May 10, 2012 8:55:01 GMT -5
Only one of them has an original Mitsubishi engine maintained by the Planes of Fame at Chino.
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Post by frank on May 10, 2012 18:12:54 GMT -5
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Post by friscohare on May 11, 2012 22:59:31 GMT -5
Keep the posts coming. Regards, Frank From the Chino Airshow May 5. 2012 3 AM6 Zeros cross the field. Superb photos! Thanks for sharing, Frank!
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Post by friscohare on May 11, 2012 23:01:13 GMT -5
New book remembers fall of Corregidor[/u][/url][/size] (ABS-CBN News, 05/09/12) MANILA, Philippines – The son of a World War II veteran who served in the Philippines has written a book recalling his father’s experiences during the fall of Corregidor. “Honor Courage Faith: A Corregidor Story” by Steve Kwiecinski tells the story of Staff Sgt. Walter Kwiecinski, an American soldier who became a prisoner of war in the Philippines. The elder Kwiecinski was one of Corregidor's defenders, manning the last 12-inch mortar firing on Battery Way. After the fall of Corregidor 70 years ago, the US and Filipino soldiers on guard were taken captive by invading Japan forces. The Japanese rounded up their prisoners on the beach and were taken to various prison camps in Bilibid, Camp O'Donnell ad Nueva Ecija. The war veteran told his son about his ordeal and Steve eventually visited the Philippines and retraces his father's journey through the prison camps of Bataan and Corregidor, uncovering a remarkable story of courage, faith and patriotism of young Americans facing the perils of war. In June last year, Steve led five US congressmen, including Democrat Russ Carnanhan, on a tour of Corregidor, as part of a recess study tour of the Philippines as well as of Turkey and Iraq. Carnaham later co-sponsored of US House Resolution 333, which honors those veterans who fought on Corregidor as well as throughout the Pacific. Vivid recollection Walter Kwiecinski's recollections are vivid and full of detail. In one suspenseful episode, he recounts a raid by the enemy: "When I came to Corregidor from Bataan, I was staying in a tunnel up on 'Topside'. I used (a friend's) bunk… but a sergeant said " you can't sleep here anymore…There's been some looting. “One day…we were looking at a picture in a Popular Mechanics (magazine). We were looking at the car (in the picture) and whoosh, oh, shells were hitting the side of the building and blasting off… but one of the shells went through a window on this side. It just happened to pass through… and wham! When we looked at the bunk, the mattress … just fell apart. If I had been on (the bed) you know what would have happened. Because I couldn't stay on that bunk, I lived through it. There “When that thing went off... you could hear some of the soldiers (screaming). There were five Filipino mess boys killed. A couple of Americans were injured. That put the fear of God in me. Before that, I wasn't afraid of the shells. From then on, boy, I was really afraid of them." The defense of Corregidor is considered “the last heroic stand” of the battle for the Philippines in 1942 and the worst military defeat experienced by the US. “Honor Courage Faith: A Corregidor Story” is now available at all National Book Store branches.
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Post by friscohare on May 11, 2012 23:03:28 GMT -5
Donald L. Versaw, now the last surviving member of the 4th Marine Regiment Band the Last China Band, proudly displays his French horn during his days as a musician. During World War II, the band was augmented into an infantry unit, where he laid down his horn, never to play as a member of the Marine band again. His unit was later captured and was held for more than three years as prisoners of war in Japan.News: Last surviving China Band Marine relives experiences[/u][/url][/size] (DVIDS, 05/09/12) SAN DIEGO, Calif. - Every Marine a rifleman. Regardless of military occupational specialty, Marines throughout history trained to fight, defend and carry out the duties of an infantryman should their country call. For members of the Fourth Marine Regiment Band, “The Last China Band,” this call to arms became their new persona on Dec. 8, 1942. Donald L. Versaw, a retired Marine Corps master sergeant and Bloomington, Neb., native, marched with his fellow Marines in the Fourth Marine Regiment Band, originally stationed in Shanghai, China, in 1941. “We performed various concerts for the troops scattered around the city,” said Versaw. “We played in parades and ceremonies for international settlements. Our purpose was to keep America’s best foot forward among the international community.” Amid the threat of an impending world war, the entire band was withdrawn on orders from Headquarters Marine Corps and was relocated to the U.S. Naval Station at Olongapo, Philippine Islands. “We left Shanghai playing,” said Versaw. “The last time I ever played in the band was November 1941. We never had a chance to unpack our instruments; we never performed as a band again, but we stayed together.” While in the Philippines, a day ahead of the U.S., Versaw recalled listening to a sailor’s radio in the middle of the night on Dec. 8, 1941, and hearing the terrible words: Pearl Harbor has been hit. Nearly the entire fleet had been knocked out by the Japanese. “It was very hard for us to believe,” said Versaw. War had begun. As morning came, the band Marines laid down their instruments and took up their rifles. The Musicians of the 4th Marine Band now made up the 3rd Platoon, Echo Company, 2nd Battalion, 4th Marine Regiment. “In the Marine Corps, you’re Marines first,” said Versaw. “Everything else is secondary.” The band members turned infantrymen took defensive positions along the Olongapo coast in preparation against a beachfront attack. Once the threat of such an attack subsided, the fighting bandsmen moved to the tip of the Bataan Peninsula, near Corregidor, the site of the terrible Bataan Death March, which took place a few short months later, Versaw continued. While the regiment was spread over the island to resist further attacks from the sea, most of the enemy action had come in the form of artillery fire, Versaw recalled. “The band platoon was fortunate in that it was positioned where it didn’t have to come in direct contact with the enemy,” said Versaw. “We just took a heck of a beating. We had to stay in our fighting holes all the time.” Things had begun to take a terrible turn for the worse for the band. Seventy years ago, on May 6, 1942, the entire band platoon was taken as prisoners of war. “The island was surrendered to the Japanese to prevent the wholesale slaughter of the refugees and wounded in the underground hospitals,” said Versaw. “It seemed to our commander that it was the more humane thing to do. [It] turned out that the war for us had just begun. Our battle with the enemy was survivorship. It was a long three-and-a-half years before we were liberated.” Captured Marines were transported on the so aptly-named “Hell Ships.” Comparable to the packed freight cars of the holocaust, more than 1,000 POW’s were stuffed into the hull of the Nissyo Maru, a Japanese vessel. The tightly-packed “human cargo” suffered from sweltering heat, unsanitary conditions, exhaustion, thirst and hunger. Seventeen agonizing days later, the ship laid anchor in the dock of Moji, Kyushu, Japan. The POW’s were then transported by train and foot to the coal-mining city of Futase in Fukuoka province. “My seniors and [noncommissioned officers] gave me a lot of encouragement,” said Versaw. “It was very depressing. We didn’t know what would happen to us day-by-day, hour-by-hour. You just got up in the morning, counted your bones, checked yourself out and hoped you didn’t get in any trouble that day. [You would hope] you wouldn’t get beat up or abused. You wondered if you would find something to eat.” The POW’s worked more than 11 hours a day, seven days a week, for pennies a day. Three-and-a-half years later, the POW’s were liberated following the end of the war. The Marines took over a month to return stateside, returning to a long anticipated homecoming. After his return to the states, Versaw was years out of practice on the French horn and decided to make a lateral move into another MOS. He pursued a career in photography and videography, in the field of Combat Camera. He served as an instructor of Basic Still Photography at the former Navy Photography School in Pensacola, Fla. Following his retirement from the Marine Corps, Versaw made a career in the aerospace industry, working on space programs such as the Saturn and Apollo missions, as well as the moon landing mission. Versaw also served five years in civil service through the Army Corps of Engineers and the Air Force as a photographer respectively. It wasn’t until years after his retirement that he was recognized for his sacrifice during World War II. Versaw was decorated with a POW medal by the commanding officer of Marine Corps Air Station El Toro, Calif. Music continues to be a part of his life through the Marine Corps Musicians Association. He recently attended the 27th annual MCMA dinner in San Diego as a distinguished guest. “Just being in the same room as him gives me goose bumps,” said fellow MCMA member William F. Schnell, a retired master gunnery sergeant, tuba player and an Avon Lake, Ohio, native. “I don’t know how many people know about [the band POWs], even Marines today. Just to know a bandsman went through that, like he did, is amazing.” As the last surviving member of the Last China Band, Versaw’s legacy as well as the band’s continues in his books, “Mikado no Kyaku (Guest of the Emperor)” and “The Last China Band.” To read more about Versaw and the ordeal of the 4th Marine Regiment Band Marines, visit the homepage of the Last China Band at fourthmarineband.com.
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Post by friscohare on May 16, 2012 22:09:14 GMT -5
General MacArthur and the Fall of Bataan and Corregidor [/u][/url][/size] (Hyphen, 05/07/12) Seventy years ago, one of the greatest sacrifices of World War II was made by Filipino and American soldiers at Bataan and Corregidor. After a fierce and bitter four-month battle, Bataan fell on April 9, 1942 and Corregidor a month later on May 6. This delayed the timetable of the Japanese from occupying the entire Asia Pacific and gave the Allied forces time to marshal the forces that impeded the Japanese invasion of Australia. And yet, in the United States, this important date is not commemorated, not taught in schools. It didn't even garner a footnote in major publications on its 70th anniversary. In this country, few people know that most of the fighting and dying were made by Filipinos. On top of this, their rights as veterans were rescinded by the US in 1946. To this day, these rights have not been fully restored. Approximately 10,000 soldiers were killed in action in Bataan and another 800 in Corregidor. Another tragedy of Bataan lies in the death of another 15,000 soldiers, mostly sick and emaciated, when they were forced to march some 60 miles away to their prison camp. What led to this unfortunate disaster? When I was growing up in the Philippines, General Douglas MacArthur was lionized and hailed as the savior of the Filipino people during World War II. His unforgettable words, “I shall return” have been etched in the minds of many Filipinos, and his arrival on Oct. 17, 1944 in the shores of Leyte established his status of the conquering hero. However, if we examine MacArthur's series of decisions regarding the Filipino soldiers, nothing could be further from the truth. In 1935, MacArthur became Field Marshall of the Philippine Commonwealth Army, as well as its Military Advisor -- with the task of creating an army in preparation for its eventual independence in 1946. So confident was MacArthur of his defense plan, that he declared: "no Chancellery in the World will ever willingly make an attempt to willfully attack the Philippines.” On July 26, 1941, because of worsening relations with Japan, the US Congress ordered the Philippine Commonwealth Army into the service of the United States. MacArthur was placed in command of the US Forces of the Far East (USAFFE). The new recruits were only provided with a month or two of training using World War I artillery, and many were not provided proper uniforms, shoes or helmets. A few hours after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, General Brereton of the Far East Air Force requested permission from MacArthur’s Chief of Staff Col. Richard Sutherland to bomb the Japanese harbor in Takao, Formosa in compliance of Rainbow 5 War Plan. His multiple requests were withheld by MacArthur and ultimately deferred in favor of a photographic reconnaissance. As a consequence, Japanese bombers attacked Clark Field, Nichols, and Iba Air Bases -- destroying more than half of the air force fleet that day. Furthermore, instead of enacting War Plan Orange #3, which provided for the prolonged defense of Luzon from the peninsula of Bataan, MacArthur ordered his men to meet the Japanese on the beachhead. The Japanese army proved to be a formidable match, so that by December 24, MacArthur switched his plan to War Plan Orange. There was not enough time to transfer much-needed food, medicine and ammunition to Bataan. Ten million pounds of rice at Cabanatuan could not be moved out of the province, and by law, had to be destroyed instead of transported to Bataan. General MacArthur’s staff also forbade the transfer to Bataan of Japanese-owned stocks of food and clothing. As a result, the men of Bataan only had a thirty-day supply of unbalanced field rations for 100,000 men. Little did the men in Bataan know that their fate was already sealed on December 22, 1941 when Roosevelt and Churchill decided that their prime objective was to save Europe first. But even on February 9, 1942, President Roosevelt continued to reassure President Quezon of his support: "So long as the flag of the United States flies on Filipino soil," Roosevelt assured Quezon, ". . . it will be defended by our own men to the death." MacArthur's message to the troops was also a promise of aid and a call to valor. "Help is on the way from the United States," he had said. "Thousands of troops and hundreds of planes are being dispatched. The exact time of arrival of reinforcements is unknown as they will have to fight their way through...." Help and relief never came. MacArthur made only one recorded visit to the Bataan front, earning him the name “Dugout Dug”. The desolate men of Bataan called themselves the “Battling Bastards of Bataan”. A poem was written by American correspondent Frank Hewlett in 1942: We’re the battling bastards of Bataan No mama, no papa, no Uncle Sam No aunts, no uncles, no cousins, no nieces, No pills, no planes, no artillery pieces And nobody gives a d**n Nobody gives a d**n. In 1979, historian Carol Petillo discovered a memorandum from the papers of chief of staff General Sutherland, revealing a conveyance of $640,000 made in January 1942 from the Philippine Treasury to the personal bank accounts of MacArthur and his immediate staff. Philippine Commonwealth President Quezon provided MacArthur a bonus of 46/100 of 1% of the defense spending up to 1942, and yet the Filipino troops were not provided proper uniforms, shoes, or even helmets. Most books written about Bataan are from an American perspective. Some even deride the Filipinos’ role. In the April 2007 issue of America in WWII, a division commander reported, “the native troops did only two things well. One, when an officer appeared to yell attention in a loud voice, jump up and salute; the other, to demand three meals per day.” The voices of the Filipino soldiers who served in Bataan and Corregidor are slowly fading into silence. Will they ever receive justice? Will they ever get their due glory? *** Cecilia Gaerlan is a Bay Area playwright based in Berkeley, California. She has recently adapted for the stage her debut novel In Her Mother's Image. During the past year she has been creating awareness of the Fall of Bataan and the Bataan Death March in a series of lectures.
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Post by friscohare on May 16, 2012 22:18:43 GMT -5
In Memoriam - Rob Burroughs visits the Manila American Cemetery while filming a documentary on the Bataan Death March.Veterans Museum founder films Bataan documentary[/u][/url][/size] (Anderson Valley Post, 05/13/12) Although battle-hardened in Kuwait and Iraq, U.S. Navy Seabees Senior Chief Rob Burroughs had to fight back tears while narrating segments of a documentary during a recent visit to the Manila American Cemetery, one of the largest facilities of its kind administered by the American Battle Monuments Commission. “The cemetery really got to me because there are so many names on the columns and so many grave markers. It was very overwhelming to be there and to know each one of these names is a person who gave his or her life for me and for every other American,” Burroughs said while recounting highlights of a two-week visit in the Republic of the Philippines. Burroughs hopes to create a documentary for public television station KIXE-TV, Channel 9, in Redding as well as the Northern California Veterans Museum & Heritage Center that he founded. Burroughs hopes to enter one of his documentaries in the next Sundial Film Festival and create a more refined version for the local PBS affiliate. A large portion of the travel expenses were underwritten by Michael Coffey, a government analyst and representative for the Northern California Veterans Cemetery in Igo. Coffey is married a Filipina who still has family members living in Monte Lupa, a suburb of Manila. Both documentaries will focus on the beginnings of World War II that included the coordinated bombings of Manila, Baguio and Davao, three cities in the Philippines, and the U.S. military base at Clark Field, home of the U.S. Army’s Far East Air Force, within hours of the early-Sunday morning attack on the U.S. Navy’s Pacific Fleet anchored at Pearl Harbor in Oahu, Hawaii, at 8 a.m. on Dec. 7, 1941. Because the Philippines is on the other side of the International Date Line, the bombings there occurred shortly after noon on Dec. 8 even though they took place less than 12 hours after Pearl Harbor was attacked, Burroughs explained. Within hours of the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, Japanese aircraft also bombed Guam and Wake, two American supply outposts between Hawaii and the Philippines, cutting off American supply lines to the Philippines, he said. Burroughs, 49, of Cottonwood currently serves in the Navy’s Active Reserve and participates almost daily in military burials as well as inurnment memorial services at the Northern California Veterans Cemetery in Igo. “I’ve done more than 1,700 military burials and memorials at the Igo cemetery since I came back from Iraq. Every day, I deal with the history of these veterans, so their stories are very real to me,” he said. As a result of his innate interest in history, Burroughs is founder and president of the Northern California Veterans Museum & Heritage Center planned for property just south of the Redding Municipal Airport. In that capacity, he also actively participates in the Veterans History Project, a resource of the Library of Congress that strives to collect first-hand accounts of veterans who served in major battles and military operations throughout the world. “Every American should walk through these hallowed grounds and read these names. Then they would understand maybe a little bit more about the sacrifices made to give us our freedoms and eliminate the threat posed by Imperial Japan from Dec. 7, 1941, until the surrender of Japan on Sept. 2, 1945, aboard the U.S. Navy battleship Missouri,” Burroughs said. “This is the Arlington of the South Pacific that few people know about,” he added in his narrated description of the Manila American Cemetery. While in the Philippines from April 4-17, Burroughs and Coffey were also hosted by Veterans of Foreign War Post 9892 in Bauang, La Union Province, and VFW Post 2485 in Angeles City, Pampanga Province. They took part in observances of the 70th anniversary of the Bataan Death March and the 28th reunion of the Philippine Scouts, a military organization of the United States Army from 1901 until the end of World War II. Of the 22,532 troops under the command of General Douglas MacArthur, commander of the Unites States Army Forces in the Far East, 11,972 were Philippine Scouts and 2,552 were Americans from the 31st Infantry Regiment, along with some military police as well as headquarters troops. Following the air attacks and for several months afterwards, the Imperial Japanese Army made landings on the Bataan Peninsula and at Lingayan Gulf on northern Luzon, but were halted in attacking Manila Bay due to the concentrated defense guns on Corregidor. Virtually surrounded by enemy troops and cut off from ammunition, food and medical supplies, a large force of almost 100,000 American and Filipino soldiers held out until May 7, 1942, on Bataan and Corregidor. With a majority of the troops starving and large numbers wounded and dying, President Franklin D. Roosevelt ordered Gen. MacArthur and his closest staff officers and family to escape via PT boat to the southern Philippine island of Mindanao and from there he was eventually flown to Austrialia, leaving in command U.S. Army Lt. Gen. Jonathan Wainwright. By early May, after months of shelling and exhausting all food and water available, Wainwright pleaded via radio with President Roosevelt, “There is a limit of human endurance and that point has long been passed.” Wainwright ordered Col. Samuel L. Howard of the 4th Marine Regiment assigned to Subic Naval Base to burn the 4th Regiment’s and national colors to prevent capture by the enemy. Via radio, Wainwright ordered all Allied troops in the Philippines to surrender on May 6, 1942. His field General Edward P. King did so April 9, 1942, on the Bataan peninsula. While some Americans and Filipinos went into the mountainous countryside to hide out from the Japanese and mount a resistance, most of the 76,000 American and Filipino soldiers taken as prisoners of war were forced to march 80 miles to Balanga, the capital of Bataan Province. “They were beaten and they were starved as they marched,” noted U.S. Congresswoman Dana Rohrabacher, who described the horrors and brutality of that march in June 2001. “Those who fell were bayoneted. Some of those who fell were beheaded by Japanese officers who were practicing with their samurai swords from horseback,” Rohrabacher said. According to the Japanese culture prevalent at the time, any warrior who surrendered was considered without honor as a human being and was dealt with like an animal or something subhuman, Rohrabacher explained. Thousands of prisoners died during the forced marches or in rail boxcars that were unventilated and without sanitation facilities. Even after the men reached Capas, the end of the rail line, they were forced to walk another 9 miles to Camp O’Donnell, where survivors of the march continued to die at a rate of 30 to 50 men per day. Most of these men were buried in mass graves dug with bulldozers operating outside the camp’s barbed wire fences. By best estimates, between 5,000 to 10,000 Filipino prisoners and 600 to 650 American prisoners of war died before reaching Camp O’Donnell. Several Japanese Imperial Army officers were later charged with multiple counts of crimes against humanity following the Bataan Death March. General Masaharu Homma was arrested and indicted, found guilty and executed by firing squad on April 3, 1946, outside Manila. Six other generals and a Baron were also found guilty and held responsible for brutal mistreatment of American and Filipino prisoners of war and were executed by hanging at Sugamo Prison in Japan on Dec. 23, 1948. Several others were sentenced to prison with sentences varying from seven years to 22 years In summing up his experiences in the Philippines, Burroughs said, “It reinforced what I already knew from talking with some of the veterans. But to listen to a story is one thing. To actually go to the place, walk through the battlefields, experience the temperature and the humidity, it really brings you back to the same level of feat that those men must have felt as they faced off against the enemy.” During an April 9 ceremony on Mt. Samat that marked the 70th anniversary of the Bataan Death March, Philippine President Benigno S. Aquino III was joined by General Fidel E. Ramos, a former president, as well as ambassadors from Japan and the United States. Burroughs and Coffey were also invited to attend and Burroughs stood within yards of the dignitaries. Dressed in his all-white parade uniform, Burroughs was the lone representative of the U.S. Armed Forces, he said. “I had a front row seat and I am just a rookie photographer,” Burroughs commented on the documentary footage that includes the ceremony. More than 6,000 Filipinos — possibly as many as 7,000 — attended the ceremony that was also televised and broadcast throughout Southeast Asia. “It amazed me that at such a significant ceremony as this, the only official representation of our nation was the American Ambassador. It was a privilege for me to be there as a representative of the museum and the U.S. Armed Forces,” Burroughs said.
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Post by friscohare on May 16, 2012 22:21:03 GMT -5
Rev. Gary Nagy holds a notebook made with a prisoner of war food package at Trinity Lutheran Church in Hobart, Ind. Wednesday May 9, 2012. Nagy is hoping to track down the family of WWII POW Doyle Waggoner of Shreveport, LA who wrote the diary and recipes. Jerry Davich: War diary to feed the mind, soul and body [/u][/url][/size] (Chicago Sun-Times, 05/13/12) The makeshift diary is more than six decades old, yet still in remarkably good shape. It’s made from a cardboard box and brown paper bag pages, strung together with leftover string and a thread of hope. “Notice: Entries in the log are for my own personal use. If you don’t like them, (expletive) you,” wrote its World War II author, Doyle W. Waggoner, a U.S. Navy ordnance specialist who was originally from Shreveport, La. Waggoner was a weary but wily prisoner of war in the Philippines, one of thousands of U.S. soldiers in the war crime called the Bataan Death March. At the end of Waggoner’s diary is a brief written history of the brutal march. In April 1942, the Japanese military assembled nearly 80,000 prisoners and marched them up the east coast of Bataan in that war-torn country. The POWs, already weak from thirst, hunger and disease, were subjected to barbarous acts of inhumanity along the 80-mile route. The ones who couldn’t keep up were executed. The ones who could faced a worse fate. They were abused, tortured and forced to relieve themselves while walking. Or else. Thousands died along the way. According to various news accounts, Waggoner was tortured for “stealing” a handful of rotting rice in July 1945. He was tied up outside for three days and nights, and regularly beaten by Japanese guards and soldiers. Along the way, he lost his mind and was buried alive, according to fellow soldiers. But not before he crafted the diary, filled with page after page of hand-etched recipes for meals that he dreamed of eating while being held captive. Plum pudding. Pecan pie. And “No. 7 dinner,” consisting of noodle soup, hamburger steak, celery, coffee and mango pie, among other pie-in-the-sky dishes during his captivity. “Everything in here is about recipes, menu items and ingredients,” explained Pastor Gary Nagy of Trinity Lutheran Church in Hobart, who now possesses the diary. “Doyle Waggoner must have had a background in food preparation. Some of the recipes are so ornate and detailed.” Nagy received the diary from his aunt, whose husband, Joe Nagy, was a World War II soldier/POW also involved in the death march. “Store this for me,” Joe Nagy told his wife after returning from the war. She did just that, for several decades. Joe died in the 1970s, never saying a word about the diary and its tortured memories. In 2002, she remembered that her nephew, Gary Nagy, enjoyed reading about history. That’s when the time-capsule diary was “inherited” by Nagy, who initially requested that I not note his name in this column. “This is not about me,” he told me. “It is about a man who dreamed about coming back to the American life he left.” Belongs in a museum But Nagy is now just as much a part of this diary as is its recipe for, say, oatmeal cookies, because he’s determined to get it to its rightful home — a museum, for all to see. “This says so much about us, our military history and the sacrifice of our soldiers like Doyle Waggoner. How can we not honor him, thank him and take nothing for granted in this country?” said Nagy as I gently thumbed through its weathered pages. The diary’s cover is made from a cardboard box stamped with the words, “POW food from Red Cross.” Inside its 54 “pages,” one recipe is written on the back of a Chesterfield cigarette package. Another is written on the back of paper with Japanese writing on it. The diary also is filled with the names of fellow POWs and addresses. One soldier is from this region, what appears to say Edward M. Richiuslski, from East Chicago. (I was unable to track down any family members, but maybe someone reading this column will contact me.) Another fellow POW was from Highland Park, Ill., a soldier named Siljestrom. And another, Jim Hann, from Montezuma, Ind. “What sacrifices these soldiers must have made,” said Nagy, who has found a possible home for the diary. “I have tried to have this national treasure given to the POW Museum in Andersonville, Ga.,” he said. “But its legal department said they could not accept it until any family member of the deceased POW (Waggoner) had been contacted.” He has tried, without any success, to find Waggoner’s family or distant relatives in the Shreveport area. He has tried contacting local media there, to no avail. He is even willing to travel to Shreveport if need be. Together, Nagy and I hope this column will serve as the springboard needed to reach Waggoner’s family, or military intervention or feedback from an appropriate museum. This is where you can possibly become a part of this story and history itself. Feel free to contact me and I will connect you with Nagy. One more thing. Nagy’s church, Trinity Lutheran, is taking this one step further later this week in honor of Armed Forces Day on May 19. That day, a Saturday, volunteers will serve at the weekly soup kitchen of another local church, Hobart Presbyterian. They’re doing it in honor of all the soldiers who sacrificed so much for so many strangers in this country, including you and me. The dinner menu that day will be made from the recipes of a POW who certainly hoped, prayed and maybe planned for such a meal after the war. His name was Doyle W. Waggoner.
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Post by friscohare on May 20, 2012 9:33:30 GMT -5
Bataan survivors open up about the horrors they endured[/u][/url][/size] (Albuquerque Journal, 05/20/12) The Bataan Death March is a moment in time that Pedro “Pete” Gonzalez and William Overmier don’t like to open up about. The march marked the forcible transfer, by the Imperial Japanese Army, of 76,000 American and Filipino prisoners of war after the three-month Battle of Bataan in the Philippines during World War II, which resulted in the deaths of thousands of prisoners. But to commemorate the 70th anniversary of the fall of the Philippines during the war, the two men have begun to speak. “The men who experienced this usually don’t talk about it,” says Franz Joachim, the director of content for New Mexico PBS. “We wanted to tell their stories and let viewers know about their history.” The result is “Bataan: 70th Anniversary Commemoration,” which was produced by New Mexico PBS. The special will screen at the KiMo Theatre, 423 W. Central, on Thursday. It also will be paired with Jan Thompson’s 30-minute documentary “The Tragedy of Bataan,” a chronicle of events that culminated with the Bataan Death March. Thompson’s dad was a Bataan veteran, and the film is narrated by Alec Baldwin. Lt. Gen. Edward D. Baca, the former chief of the National Guard Bureau in New Mexico and a spokesman for Bataan’s defenders, also appears in the segment. “She made the film because she was curious about her father’s story,” Joachim says. “As she learned more about his story, she found that so many people were affected by this.” There were plenty of New Mexico soldiers who were in the Bataan Death March, Joachim says. “We wanted to put together a segment to where two New Mexicans would tell their story,” Joachim says. Joachim teamed up with producer and host Matt Grubs. Grubs says hearing the stories of Gonzalez and Overmier was overwhelming, but gave a glimpse into what their life was like. “I’m 37 and I’ve never had to worry about being drafted or shipped off somewhere. It’s difficult to conceive what they went through,” he explains. “These guys were there when Pearl Harbor happened and it’s their story of survival.” Joachim says a difficult part of telling the story actually came down to having Gonzalez and Overmier talk about the subject. “We were warned that they don’t talk about themselves,” he says. “I had a list of 30 or so potential vets in the area. But when I called Pete, one of his sons answered and told me that his dad didn’t talk about it. But Pete thought it was time to talk, and I feel lucky because it’s a compelling story and every time I hear it, I still get the chills.” Grubs says that going into shooting the segment, there was a time limit of 30 minutes. “We ended up cutting footage around 105 minutes,” he says. “Once these men started talking, the stories were incredible and it was cathartic for them. It’s very clear that both of these guys, they want history to realize what they went through and what they sacrificed for the country.” Joachim says that Sen. Tom Udall, D-N.M., also participated in the project. On Dec. 15, 2011, honoring the 70th anniversary of the fall of Bataan and the subsequent death march, Udall proposed S. 2004, legislation to grant the Congressional Gold Medal to the troops who defended Bataan during World War II. The next day, Rep. Martin Heinrich, D-N.M., proposed its counterpart in the House of Representatives, HR 3712. “Udall’s pushing the bill through, and when the documentary came out he got even more interested in pursuing this,” he says. “It’s one way to remember what happened. New Mexico PBS also will air the special at 7 p.m. May 27 on KNME-TV, Channel 5. For more information on this program, visit www.newmexicopbs.org.
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Post by friscohare on May 20, 2012 9:36:44 GMT -5
Local community honors a local WW II veteran[/u][/url][/size] (WTHI Indiana, 05/19/12) ***Click the Link Above to View Video*** VIGO CO., Ind. (WTHI) - A Wabash Valley community celebrated the 90th birthday of one of its heroes. The West Terre Haute Town Board, and the Vigo Co. Council proclaimed today “Bill Swickard Day” in honor of his birthday. Bill is a World War II veteran and survivor of the infamous Bataan Death March. He was a Japanese prisoner of war (POW) for four years during World War II. His family and friends from across the country joined him for the celebration and the proclamation. For Bill it was all a little unexpected, but it was the least the community could do to honor one of its heroes.
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Post by stenotholus on May 21, 2012 14:55:15 GMT -5
Re: Doyle Waggoner Story/ Chicago Sun Times / Jerry Davitch
As very few Navy personnel were on the Bataan Death March it seems likely that story in Doyle Waggoner's diary was a second hand account of the March. Waggoner and two men mentioned in the story went to Japan on the Nissyo Maru in July and Aug 1944 (details below). Waggoner died in Nagoya 2B "Narumi" on 17 July 1945.
The other POWs mentioned in the story:
Siljestrom, Gordon Frank 2999390 GM3C USS Tanager. Nissyo Maru to Japan July-Aug 1944. Liberated from Nagoya 2B “Narumi” camp Japan Sept 1945.
Richwalski, Edward M. 257125 Pfc USMC Hq Co 2nd Bn 4th Marine Regt. Nissyo Maru to Japan July-Aug 1944. Liberated from Nagoya 2B “Narumi” camp Japan Sept 1945.
Hann, Jim 2911816 ACOM USN liberated from Bilibid Prison, Philippines, Feb 1945.
I have passed along this information to Jerry Davitch w/ the hope he will pass it along to Reverend Nagy.
Best regards, Stenotholus
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Post by friscohare on May 26, 2012 23:48:51 GMT -5
Ben Skardon shares his story of surviving the Bataan Death March, prison camps, the sinking of two ships and life-threatening illnesses in World War II.WWII vet remembered for compassion despite facing brutality[/u][/url][/size] (GoUpstate.com, 05/23/12) Retired Army Col. Beverly N. “Ben” Skardon, 94, recently walked more than eight miles through the desert. “Ben's Brigade,” about a dozen friends and family, including nephew Hooper Skardon of Spartanburg, walked at his side in the annual Bataan Memorial Death March at White Sands Missile Range, N.M. Also in the march were about 15 others who, like Skardon, survived the terrifying trek 70 years ago. Japanese soldiers captured Skardon in April of 1942. He trudged mile after agonizing mile on the infamous Bataan Death March — and that was only the beginning of his ordeal. He languished in prison camps, survived the sinking of two ships and life-threatening illnesses until he was freed more than three years later. Skardon later returned to teach at his alma mater, Clemson University, and is fondly remembered by many Spartanburg residents he taught. Spartanburg is also home to his daughter, Sara “Sa” Smith, and son-in-law, Dr. T. Ravenel Smith. “He's been one of the champions of my life,” Sa said. Sa, an artist, said her father instilled loyalty, honesty, hard work, faith and “great, great compassion for everyone all around you.” “He's always said family first and keep the faith,” Sa said, and her father still amazes her. He treats each day “as a precious gift — to make good choices, to enjoy it, to treasure life …” One of his favorite mottoes: “All for one and one for all.” Sa's husband, Ravenel, said Skardon has endured “unbelievable” adversity. “The most remarkable thing is he doesn't show any bitterness at all toward the Japanese and always has a positive outlook.” Cavalry dreams pierced Skardon was one of five sons and a daughter. Their father was an Episcopal minister. Born in Louisiana, Skardon was 8 when his family moved to Walterboro. “My father was a very dedicated clergyman. His faith is one of the monumental attributes, which he passed on to us,” Skardon said in a recent interview. He also impressed upon them the virtues of honor and sacrifice. All of Skardon's brothers served during World War II and Skardon was not the only prisoner. His oldest brother was captured by German soldiers after the Battle of the Bulge. Skardon was called to active duty in 1939 after he graduated Clemson University — then Clemson College. Skardon was stationed in the Philippines as commander of Company A of the 92nd Infantry Regiment PA (Philippine Army), a battalion of Filipino Army recruits. “Ground pounders.” “Gravel crunchers.” “Grunts.” His tone confers respect and esteem to those monikers. As a boy, Skardon wanted to serve in the Army. He fantasized of heroic battle deeds. He imagined himself an officer on a horse, slashing with his sword, fighting with Company H of 4th Virginia Cavalry — “mortally wounded defending the South.” But in the real war, Japanese bayonet-wielding captors pierced those fantasies. Skardon had almost died of malaria before Japanese soldiers arrived. “If I had known what was coming up, I don't think I would have made it,” he said. About 75,000 American troops on the Bataan Peninsula in the Philippines surrendered to the Japanese on April 9, 1942. Many prisoners died of harsh treatment and disease. Skardon thought as an officer he would be “traded” or taken to Manila. That thinking was as illusory as boyhood dreams of victoriously conquering Union forces on horseback. Skardon marched about 80 miles in nine days. Guards clubbed prisoners for no reason, whacked them with two-by-fours as they passed in vehicles. Soldiers marched four abreast and Skardon realized that marching on the inside drew less attention from guards. Skardon had marched four or five days when he heard a “thud.” The man behind him had been bayoneted. Skardon put his head down. He did not look at guards after that. He was in a “continuous state of terror.” Along with terror was the horror at the unimaginable conditions around him. He saw two American soldiers in the road — run over so many times their cardboard-flat corpses were embedded in the soil — but Skardon could tell they were human. Character shaped by hardships Skardon has shared his story many times. He has given speeches about the Bataan Death March, his imprisonment, and how those experiences served to mold and shape his character. He never thought of giving up through the hardships he braved. Skardon arrived at Camp O'Donnell at the end of the march. There he reunited with former Clemson classmate Henry Leitner and Leitner's best friend and fellow alum Otis Morgan. Malaria, diarrhea and dysentery were rampant in the prison camp. Skardon endured reoccurring bouts with malaria. There was no medical care. Leitner would bathe Skardon's face to cool him when his fever rose. Leitner and Morgan covered Skardon with blankets and straw when he had chills. They held him down when chills racked his body. Skardon said prisoners' diets mainly consisted of rice. Leitner made a swatter with bamboo and vines to kill frogs along the latrine ditch to supplement their meals. They cleaned the frogs with wire and toasted them on tin. “We chewed them whole. They were delicious,” Skardon said. From Camp O'Donnell, Skardon was taken to Cabanatuan prison camp. He remained there two years. Skardon said POWs were divided into groups of 50 to 100. Barefoot and almost naked, they mainly did farm work. He liked to be assigned work detail in the okra patch, where he would pick an okra pod, glance around to ensure guards did not see him, and place the pod in his mouth. Rations were cut after the Japanese suffered military defeats and the tide turned in the Allies' favor. Skardon developed Beriberi, a condition caused by a severe vitamin deficiency. His hands and feet were in extreme pain – hair felt like barbed wire. He felt as though someone was jabbing an ice pick into the bottom of his foot. Leitner squeezed his feet for hours to minimize the pain. At his “lowest point,” Skardon had Beriberi, malaria, diarrhea and his eyes were sealed shut with discharge from an eye infection. He could barely swallow. Leitner and Morgan sthingy fed him, cleansed his eyes, carried him to an open latrine and bathed him before he was returned to their shack in the prison camp. Morgan spoke some Japanese. He made it known that a ring was available in exchange for food. That ring was Skardon's Clemson class ring that he had managed to hide during imprisonment. Skardon said a bargain was made. Leitner returned to camp with a small can of potted ham and a chicken. Wire was used to scrape marrow from the bones. “Nothing edible remained,” Skardon said. “Gleaming white” bones were all that remained of the pullet-sized chicken. The ham was used in rice balls. Skardon's health improved after the meal. Two years after his imprisonment at Cabanatuan, Skardon was transferred to a prison in Manila to await shipment to Japan. On Dec. 13, 1944, he was crammed into a Japanese liner with other POWs. “… Thus began a 47-day nightmare of horrendous humanity and barbarism. The lack of air and water, the confined space, the constriction of movement, produced near panic. A few became crazed with heat and thirst and had to be forcibly subdued. One attempted to climb the narrow metal ladder leading up to the deck. A Japanese guard on the deck shot him and he fell back on those below,” Skardon said. Navy planes attacked and sunk the ship. Surviving POWs, many wounded, boarded a second ship that was “badly mauled” by Navy dive bombers. Survivors were transferred to a third ship that arrived covered in ice Jan. 30, 1945 in Japan. Skardon weighed a mere 90 pounds by that time. He was imprisoned at a camp in Manchuria until Russian units freed him and others in August 1945. “Of the 1,600 American POWs who began the voyage, approximately 400 reached Japan,” Skardon said. Sadly, Leitner and Morgan were not among the survivors. Morgan was killed on a ship carrying POWs to Japan. Leitner died in a Japanese POW camp in 1945. A debt that cannot be repaid “My debt to Henry Leitner and Otis Morgan is heavy. It cannot be repaid,” Skardon has said. Skardon returned to their alma mater, where he taught English courses until his retirement in 1982. Ron Smith of Spartanburg was in a public speaking course Skardon taught. Smith played football at Clemson and majored in architecture. Skardon encouraged him academically and athletically. Smith said it was evident that Skardon cared. He engaged students and made them comfortable. “He was always just warm and genuine,” Smith said. Skardon taught John Macomson of Campobello technical writing. He made time for students, was likable, and “left a memorable impression” that's endured for decades. And like Smith, Macomson said Skardon offered him encouragement. Macomson has described Skardon to his family, including his children, and if his children could exemplify any of Skardon's traits, Macomson hopes it is his “quiet confidence.” Clemson University President James Barker wrote in an email that Skardon — who taught Barker English — may have been the best of the many great teachers he's had. “His love of literature, poetry and love of life were inspirational, especially after we learned his personal story as a survivor of the Bataan Death March during World War II. “Ben endured unspeakable hardships,” Barker said. “He was close to death many times. Yet he chose to live the rest of his life without bitterness. He chose to remember the love and support and sacrifice of his fellow prisoners, some of them also Clemson graduates, instead of the brutality of his captors. “Ben's great humanity infused his lessons with deep meaning. I still carry those lessons with me today.”
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Post by friscohare on May 29, 2012 23:29:07 GMT -5
Anthanasia “Chicki” Bovis of Duluth shared this postcard sent by the Imperial Japanese Army during World War II. Her uncle Janetos Poulimenos was held as a prisoner of war. Duluth woman shares haunting tale of World War II POW[/u][/url][/size] (Duluth News Tribune, 05/26/12) The letter in the mailbox was written in Greek. The year was 1941, and it had been sent to Mankato from an Army base near San Francisco. Twenty-five-year-old Janetos (“Jerry”) Poulimenos had written to his sister, describing a summer evening. He and his Army buddies had looked at the window displays of closed shops as they walked down the street. They came upon a grocery store that was still open and went in. Jerry saw pastries that reminded him of loukoumades, small honey-dipped Greek doughnuts. He selected fifteen and pulled out his wallet. But, he wrote to his sister, the cashier just smiled at the serviceman and didn’t charge him anything. At the end of his letter, Jerry teasingly added: “Today I won an award for calligraphy — and you tell me you can’t read my writing!” Nine years earlier, in January 1932, 16-year-old Jerry had emigrated from a village in Greece to come and live in Mankato with his sister Mary Marinis, and her husband Mike. The Marinises owned a busy 24-hour diner, the Metropolitan Café. Jerry helped out. The Marinises eventually had two children, a boy, Jimmie, and a girl, Athanasia. Jerry was fond of his nephew and niece, and they returned his affection. In 1941, when Athanasia Bovis was 5, Jerry joined the Minnesota National Guard. He trained on weekends and helped with the restaurant during the week. That summer, Jerry’s reserve unit was activated. He was sent to boot camp and assigned to D Company, 31st Infantry Regiment. His unit was sent to Fort McDowell, a port of embarkation in San Francisco Bay. That’s when he had seen the doughnuts. Soon his unit boarded a ship bound for the South Pacific. In September, the Marinises received a letter from him saying that he was in the Philippines. December 7 brought the terrible news of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. The U.S. declared war. Suddenly, the stakes in the Philippines were even higher. The Marinises hoped for a letter all that winter. Spring and summer came and went, and still they waited. In September 1942, a telegram arrived from the War Department: Jerry had been captured by the Japanese, but he was “well.” At least the family knew something — at least he was alive. Sometime later, the family received a small, tan POW postcard printed by the Japanese Imperial Army. It was a multiple-choice card, allowing a POW to identify his camp, to give an assessment of his health, and then to add a few typewritten words: in this case, “Hope all are well.” His precious signature was the only thing that was handwritten. Immediately, Mrs. Marinis prepared a care package and mailed it to her brother. She and her family wrote letter after letter to him. Eventually, a second POW postcard reached Mankato: “Dear Sis, Received your box o.k. Thanks a million. Am getting along fine. Hope to see you all soon. Give my regards to Jimmie and Athanasia.” The Marinises were overjoyed. Weeks passed in silence, and hope dimmed. Then came the day that Athanasia, sitting in a booth at the back of the diner, saw two men in uniform walk into the Metropolitan Café. They asked for Mary Marinis. When Mrs. Marinis appeared and saw the men, she knew why they had come. In a fog, she heard them say that her little brother had died. His body could not be returned home, they added, because he had perished on a Japanese POW ship, and the Japanese had thrown his body overboard. On behalf of a grateful nation, the men extended their sympathies. Athanasia saw her mother fall to the floor. Athanasia — whom most people in Duluth know as Chicki — recalls that it was not until 1946 that the family learned what had happened to her uncle. One of his friends, Jim Argeanas, contacted the Marinis family. Argeanas wrote that Jerry was 1st cook in the 31st Infantry. He was also brave: during the fighting on the Bataan Peninsula, Argeanas wrote, Jerry went through enemy fire to deliver food to the hungry men at the front. In April 1942, Jerry and Argeanas were captured on the Bataan Peninsula, and they survived the Bataan Death March. The two men were sent to POW Camp O’Donnell and later to POW Camp Cabanatuan, where they became friends. Jerry became ill with malaria, beriberi, and dysentery and was blind for a few months from a vitamin deficiency. Argeanas protected him and snuck him extra food. Jerry and two other Greek Americans did the same for Argeanas when he became ill a few months later. “I will ever be grateful to them for this loyalty,” he wrote to the Marinis family. In August 1943, Jerry and Argeanas were sent to the Las Piñas POW camp near Manila. Five months later, Argeanas recalled, Jerry received a package from home with chicken noodle soup, cookies, and halvah. Jerry never received any of the letters. On October 1, 1944, Jerry, Argeanas, and 700 other emaciated POWs were herded onto a small Japanese ship. The boat was one of a convoy of 60 ships leaving the Philippines bound for Japan. The American military, unaware that the unmarked Japanese ships held American POWs, bombarded them and sank many. On board Jerry and Argeanas’ overcrowded boat, POWs were given two meals a day: salted fish and a little rice, and a teasthingyful of water. The men started dying of thirst. Their tongues swelled from lack of water, causing them to strangle. On the fourteenth day of their voyage, Jerry started to choke two times, and Argeanas and a friend managed to save him. But by the next morning, Jerry was several feet away from them. When he began to choke again, his friends did their best to reach him. “It took us about 30 minutes to go those 15 feet,” Argeanas wrote. By the time they reached Jerry, he was dead. His body was dropped into Hong Kong Bay. Sixty-five years later, one of Chicki’s cousins thought that Jerry’s sacrifice should be recognized. Her cousin Thomas Kallos approached U.S. Rep. Mike Coffman of Colorado to learn more about their uncle’s service to his adopted country. Coffman’s staff gathered information from the Military Personnel Records Center and the National Archives. On March 30, 2010, Jerry was posthumously decorated with the Bronze Star Medal with Oak Leaf Cluster, Purple Heart, Prisoner of War Medal, Combat Infantryman’s Badge, Philippine Campaign Medal, and a Presidential Unit Citation. The service medals were presented to Kallos by Rep. Coffman. Kallos shared the good news with his cousin in Duluth. As Chicki held the 1941 letter and others her family had received from her uncle, she teared up. “Sixty-six years later, he finally received the recognition he deserved.”
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