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I grew up in Maywood, Illinois, a typical child of the Great Depression. I attended parochial schools (St. James and St. Eulalia) and Garfield public school. I graduated from Proviso Twp. High School in 1938. In my senior year I enlisted in the old 33rd Tank Company, Illinois National Guard. I entered active duty in November, 1940, as a sergeant with the tank company (now company B, 192nd Tank Battalion) at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Along with other selected sergeants throughout the army, I was commissioned a second lieutenant, Infantry (tanks) and assigned to the 192nd G.H.Q. Tank Battalion, at Fort Knox, Kentucky. The G.H.Q. Tank Battalions were not the glamour boys, like the armored regiments of the 1st and 2nd Armored Divisions, but, rather, shock troops whose job was to smash through enemy defenses so that the "glamour boys" could exploit the breakthrough.
I took part in the Second, vs. Third, Army maneuvers in Louisiana, in September, 1941. In October, my battalion was sent to the Philippines, arriving on November 20, 1941, just eighteen days before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, on December 8. The same day, the Japanese Eleventh Air Fleet attacked America's principal air base in the Philippines: Clark Field, Luzon. In this attack the Japanese destroyed, on the ground, one-half of the 35 Boeing B-17 four-engine bombers and many of the P-40 and P-35 pursuit planes we had on Luzon.
The way lay open to the invasion. On December 22, the Japanese Fourteenth Army began landing operations on Lingayen Gulf. Company B, 192 Tank Battalion was sent to the north to meet the enemy. Major General Jonathan M. Wainwright wanted a tank attack to save his cavalry, which was outnumbered and under heavy attack by Japanese infantry and Japanese "zero" fighters. He called on the Tank Group commander, Brig. Gen. James R. N. Weaver, and Weaver called on me. Second lieutenants are expendable – the most expendable people in the army. And I was the most expendable officer in the battalion! So my platoon of five M-3 light tanks went into battle. I led the attack, followed by Staff Sgt. Al Edwards, Sgt. Larry Jordan, Sgt. Willard VonBergen and, bringing up the rear as rear guard, Sgt. Ray Vandenbroucke. Because of the terrain, the tanks were confined to the road. The platoon came under heavy fire from anti-tank guns (47 mm). The front door of my tank was blown off, after which a Japanese medium tank (16 tons) rammed my tank, as it was passing by, and broke the track, immobilizing the tank. The other four tanks – now under Sgt. Edward's command – continued the attack, but had to break it off because of the heavy enemy fire. It was in this attack, the first U.S. tank attack of WWII, the Pvt. Henry Deckert was killed. All the tank commanders were wounded as they withdrew to our lines at Rosario. My immobilized tank, now behind Japanese lines, continued to take heavy fire and burst into flames. My three crew members (Cpl. John Cahill, Pfc. Steve Gados and Pfc. Louis Zelis) and I evacuated the burning tank, in front of four Japanese light tanks, and were taken prisoner.
We were completely at the tender mercy of the Japanese. Our morale was high because we knew that we had done our best against very heavy odds. I had completed my mission. I had personally led the first U.S. tank attack of WWII, and although I had not stopped the Japs, I had slowed them down. The other four tanks of my platoon had succeeded in returning to our lines. Of course I knew nothing of the planned withdrawal to Bataan peninsula. I knew we had lost heavily in ships and planes in the Jap's surprise attack on Pearl Harbor on December 8, and also on the Jap air attack on the Philippines on the same day. But, I did not know how bad the situation really was for us. My duty now was to preserve the lives and spirit of my own men – my three tank crew members. I was always, from the very first, mindful of my duty as an American officer to uphold the honor of the U.S. and her flag. That is why we refused to bow to the Japanese. This may sound foolish, buy I felt this very strongly. I began to study the Japanese soldiers who came into the Japanese warehouse to look us over. As the days passed, they seemed to be smaller and less physically tough. The tough ones were at the front leading the charges against our dwindling forces in front of Bataan. Their casualties were high, but so were ours.
It was a bitter experience. While my tank platoon had held up the Japanese advance for an hour or so, nevertheless the Japs pushed on, and that night they entered Rosario. I swore to myself, "If only we had attacked with all seventeen tanks of my company, instead of only my platoon of five tanks, we could have driven the Jap back to his beachhead, and even frustrated the Jap landing. The Japs had won this first round, largely due to their air power. We had no planes at all, while the Japs seemed to have an endless supply. The Japs used their air superiority well.
I tried to encourage my three crew members (Cahill, Zelis and Gados): "Keep your chins up, men. We'll get out of this." We were hoping that my platoon sergeant, Al Edwards, would be able to break through the Jap cordon and free us. But, no! We were tied up and placed on the decks of the four Jap tanks, one captive yank to each Jap tank, and driven further to the rear. As we passed into the Jap lines, their rear area was swarming with troops. Out in Lingayen Gulf, I could see over thirty-five troop transports and other craft (we later learned the Jap force consisted of eighty troop transports, plus other assault craft). The Japs were in the Philippines to stay!
We four Americans spent the night in the town of Agoo in an open pagoda, or small bandshell, about twenty feet in diameter. We were exhausted. We had had no food or drink for about eighteen hours. We were filthy dirty: grime, soot, volcanic dust. My tank coveralls had holes from burning gun powder. Japanese newsreel men took our pictures, so we put on our meanest scowls to scare any Jap recruits who might see the newsreel.
Two days passed. We were now in the town of Bauang, north of Agoo, tied up hand and foot in a tobacco warehouse. At the open door was a Jap machine gun crew with a machine gun trained at us. I awoke Christmas morning to find the warehouse filled with captured Philippine army soldiers, about 95 or 100. Some were wounded. In my coveralls' pocket I had a small crucifix, which my sister, Sister Mary Noel, B.V.M., had given me before I left for the Philippines. I asked a Jap guard for permission to pass the little cross over to the side of the prison where the Filipinos were. Permission granted. Also with us were four more American soldiers: 2nd Lts. Charlie Youngblood, Milledgeville, GA, Norman Wides, Lexington, KY, and Bill Parks, Marion, IL, and Cpl. Bob Morris, Saucelito, CA.
It was Christmas day, so we sang Christmas carols, much to the displeasure of the Japs. The Japs gave each of us a rice ball, our first Christmas dinner in Jap captivity. These four Americans had been instructors with the Philippine army's 91st division. The Japs had overrun their position the night before, and captured these Americans, so there were eight of us. We would be together, for the next six months, in makeshift jails in Agoo, Bauang and Tarlac, always heavily guarded. Our spirits were high. None of us eight had been wounded or seriously injured. We had been in Japanese hands less than three days, so the starvation diet had not yet affected us.
From the very beginning of our captivity, we had refused to bow. I acted as spokesman for the group. "Americans to not bow to anyone. If we were to bow to you, we would be court-martialed by the U.S. government when we returned to American military control." The Japanese accepted this. Apparently, I spoke with some vehemence and passion, and convinced the Japanese. I said to them, "We will salute Japanese officers of equal or higher rank." (Since four of us were only second lieutenants, most of the Japanese officers we met outranked us.) Once the Japanese removed the ropes from our hands and feet, we could stand up and salute and everyone was happy. We later learned that we were the only Americans that refused to salute Japanese enlisted men and non-commissioned officers, and we got away with it. We got away with it for three months, until we were removed to Tarlac, a large provincial capital city, and found ourselves in the power of the Jap military governor, Captain Tsuneyoshi, alias "Little Hitler" and "Balloon Pants."
In late March of 1942, we were moved by truck from Agoo to the city of Tarlac, in central Luzon. We dismounted and were forced to stand at attention. In a moment, a short, ugly Jap captain mounted a kind of podium and screamed at us. "You are our eternal enemies. Japan will fight this war if it takes a hundred years!" This was our introduction to the infamous and notorious Captain Tsuneyoshi, military governor of Tarlac Province. He had a little Hitler-like mustache, big baggy khaki shorts, boots, a huge samurai sword and a scabbard at his left side. We immediately secretly dubbed him "Little-Hitler," alias "Balloon Pants." He screamed at us. "You will bow to the Japanese soldiers!" Then I opened my big mouth, "American soldiers do not bow. We will not salute Japanese officers, period!" (When will I learn to keep my big mouth shut?) He glared at us and screamed, "You will bow to all Japanese soldiers!" He was practically foaming at the mouth in his rage. He left his soap box and stormed away.
That night two Japanese drunken sergeants came into our cell and began to beat two of our men badly: 2nd Lt. Norman Wides and Cpl. John Cahill. Using judo, they picked up Norman and Jack and slammed them down on the concrete floor. The other six of us stood at attention. After several minutes the two Jap sergeants left us, and we were alone in our cell. We went into a huddle. We decided, "If we want to survive this war, maybe we should be good little prisoners and play ball with these guys and go ahead and bow." Unanimous decision! Bright and early next morning, when the guards came marching into our cell, we stood at attention and bowed. Our only consolation was that we were not the first Americans to have bowed. And we did so only to avoid severe beatings and so have a better chance to survive until the war should come to an end. Little Hitler had won the day!
Tsuneyoshi was about forty years of age and not highly regarded by his fellow Jap officers. His career was going nowhere. After Bataan fell, he was given the difficult and undesirable job of first commandant of the notorious death camp for P.O.W's, Camp O'Donnell, near Capas, northwest of Clark Field. Here is where the Filipino and American soldiers and sailors were taken when they came off the death march. There was little water, a few spigots hastily connected to a small water supply. There were only a few latrines which had been dug when the POW's, about 60,000 weak, emaciated, ragged figures, Filipino and American, began staggering into the camp over a period of several weeks. Drinking water was terribly scarce and disease was widespread. The latrines soon overflowed. Big blow-flies were everywhere. Almost immediately the men began to die from dysentery, diarrhea, malaria, beriberi, scurvy and pellagra. Then, diphtheria, dengue fever. Every day burial details would carry out the men who had died to be dumped into mass graves. Our Graves Registration people did a tremendous job of keeping records of the dead and buried. The rainy season had arrived, and soon the graves filled with water. Bodies floated to the surface. It was hard to keep the bodies down. I hated Captain Tsuneyoshi. Perhaps I judged him too harshly. I learned much later that he had tried to get more food and medicine to the camp, but was not successful.
After three months in Tarlac, I was moved in early June to camp Cabanatuan. While there, I visited the hospital section, including the camp "zero ward," weekly, looking for members of my battalion. Specifically, I remember visiting 1st Sgt. Bill Swift. Bill and I had been in the first grade together at St. James school. Bill Swift, like so many others, died at this camp from dysentery and malaria. I was very saddened by Bill's death.
I was asked to take over a barracks of 100 enlisted men. It was the toughest job I ever had. Most of the men were sick and I had to supply about 50 men each morning for wood detail to cut wood in the forest for cook fires in the camp. I had a first sergeant, an old army top-kick, named Sam Tolvey of the 31st U.S. Infantry. Sam was my right hand man. One day, Sam told me that he had been offered a job as provost marshal of the camp and this was a full time job. He was persuaded to take the job, because every day he got a loaf of bread. The Japanese provided flour for the bake ovens in the camp, which were used to bake bread for the men in the hospital section. I told Sam, "Don't leave me, Sam. I need you." Then Sam told me words I have never forgotten, "Lt., you don't need me. There is no such thing as an indispensable man. Sure, it will be tough for awhile for you, but you'll get by. You can do it. This is the hardest thing you'll ever be asked to do in your life. Anybody can be a leader in ideal conditions. Here it takes brains to be a leader in these conditions." I have never forgotten those words that Sam told me. It was very hard, but I carried on. Later on I was given as a helper, 2nd Lt. Bernie Kapelke of the 31st U.S. Infantry Regiment.
In November, 1942, the Japanese sent 1500 American prisoners to Japan on the Nagata Maru, and I was one of them. We boarded the ship in Manila at the famous Pier 7. There were three decks on the ship. On the top were civilians and wounded Japanese soldiers. On the second deck were Japanese troops. Just above the keel on the bottom deck were the American prisoners. We were driven down to the bottom deck by Japanese soldiers prodding us with fixed bayonets. As I got down a little lower, a wave of terrible heat and stench assailed me. At the bottom, it was terribly crowded, with room just enough to sit down. This was to be my home for the next three weeks.
About November 15, 1942, we put into the port of Takao, Formosa (Taiwan). We were there about 2 or 3 days. It was here that 2nd Lt. Richard Danca, Co. B, 192nd Tank Battalion, died of blood poisoning. His body was taken ashore to be cremated.
About the 16th or 17th of November, we sailed to Japan with a Japanese escort. As we got into a more northerly latitude, the weather became quite cold. There had been enough deaths on board that we had more room to stretch out. On Thanksgiving Day, November 25, 1942, we arrived at the port of Moji on the island of Kyushu. We disembarked and lined up on the pier. The first words we heard from a Japanese interpreter were, "Get the lead out!"
We were divided up into three 500 men groups and taken across the Shemoneseki Strait to Shimoneseki on the island of Honshu, the main island. We were split up into two different camps on Honshu in the Osaka area, Camps "Umeda" and "Tanagawa." The men in Umeda worked in a steel mill while those in Tanagawa, where I was, did pick and shovel work to build a submarine base.
We marched into Tanagawa at nightfall. There were five new barracks, very flimsily constructed with dirt floors and paper thin walls coming to six inches off the floor. The barracks were very cold. There were two decks of bunks with a ladder going up every twenty feet to the second deck, which was 8 to 10 feet off the ground. Shoes had to be taken off at the foot of the ladder. At the foot of each bunk were five synthetic blankets, made out of peanut shell fiber and a rigid pillow in the shape of a small cylinder, packed with rice husks. The barracks had no heat, and with temperatures falling below freezing, the conditions were pretty tough. After coming from the tropics, this was quite a shock to your system.
Our bodies needed fat, and there was none. The first meal consisted of a tea cup size of rice and thin soup, made of soy sauce and 5 to 6 soy beans floating on the top.
To add to our misery, we had picked up on board the Nagata Maru some unwelcome visitors. LICE. The lice soon spread from one man to another, and into the clothing. Each man had to delouse himself. I would sit in the sun in the barracks and take off my thin Japanese overcoat, my shirt and my lousy T-shirt. I was lousy! Then I would put my shirt and overcoat back on to keep warm and sit laboriously picking out each louse from the seams of my T-shirt. With the nails of my thumb and forefinger I would squeeze each louse and the blood would shoot out. The nits (eggs) of the lice were cemented into the seams of the T-shirt. I would then put my T-shirt back on and be able to sleep that night. The next day I would repeat the process. Those who were too ill or weak to "read" T-shirts would have the lice migrate from the T-shirts into their shirts. The following day the lice would be popping out from the sleeves and collar of their shirt.
In the hospital section of this camp was Capt. Rube Schwass, S-4 (supply officer). Rube was in terrible shape, suffering from dysentery and covered with lice. I would take Rube's underwear to the wash rack and hold them under the ice water to stun the lice, which would then fall off. I would then hang them out on the barb wire fence to dry.
There were times at night when I suffered from severe intestinal cramps. When I would feel an intestinal cramp coming on, I would ease myself out of my little cocoon and go down the ladder and out the door to the benjo, hoping that I would make it. Often enough I would not, and I would soil my shorts. I would take off my shorts at the wash rack and hold them under the spigot to wash them, and then hang them on the barbed wire fence to dry. They would freeze at night, and then by noon they would be dry.
I was considered a worker. A job I had to do every other day was to take the workers' rations to the submarine base. Each worker was given a large rice ball and a scoop of thick soup with soybeans. This was three to four times more than the officers' ration.
On a couple of occasions, I took the body of a dead prisoner to the crematory on a two wheeled oxcart. On one occasion it was the body of Sgt. Jack Griswold, a member of my battalion and also a fellow member of the 1938 class of Proviso High School. On the way to the crematory, we would pick up wood and pile it on the cart, together with the corpse. Then we would wait until the ashes were returned in a small box, which was labeled in Japanese with the man's name. The ashes were brought back to camp and turned in to the Japanese camp headquarters.
I was at Tanagawa until January 15, 1943. On that day about 100 officers were transferred to Zentsuji, a Japanese army post on the Island of Shikoku. Zentsuji was a model prisoner of war camp. The Japanese had one other model camp in Shanghai. Zentsuji was an officers' camp. There were about 350 American officers from Guam, Wake Island and American ships which had been sunk in the battle of the Java Sea in February, 1942. USS Houston (cruiser), USS Perch (submarine), USS Pope (destroyer), Australian cruiser HMAS Perth and British cruiser HMS Exeter. There were also officers from the Australian Imperial Forces captured on Rabaul, New Britain Island. Also, a couple of civilian men who had been in the British Colonial service captured in the Gilbert Islands.
Some months later, Royal Dutch Navy officers were brought into camp who had been on the light cruiser, De Ruyter, which had been sunk in the Java Sea by the Japanese. These allied ships, the Houston, Perth Exeter and De Ruyter were the main battle force of the allied fleet in the South Pacific at this time. The allies had no battleships at this time. The Japanese had battleships and bombers. That's what did us in. The Japanese had aircraft up above for observation and were able to blow the allied ships out of the water. The Japanese battleships outgunned and outranged the allied fleet. The U.S. air force was wiped out on the first day of the war at Clark Field, and the remnants flew down to Australia. By December 15, 1941, there wasn't an American plane in the sky.
The Japanese organized work details among the officers on a voluntary basis at camp Zentsuji, but you were expected to work. I chose farming. Other jobs were gathering grass for rabbit food and taking care of the rabbits. The rabbit meat was used for making gravy in the camp kitchen. The Japanese opened the lands of the officers' club for farming. I had the afternoon farming detail and used a pick and shovel to turn over the soil. We were under a Japanese agricultural expert who oversaw the farming whom we nicknamed "Gobo." He later found out what we had nicknamed him. He was not happy. "Gobo" was a weed the Japanese gave us for greens to put into our soup. We planted sweet potatoes, white potatoes, cabbage and Daikons, a huge white radish used for soups and salads.
The American officers were mixed in with the officers from other nations, Australia, Britain and Holland. Some of these officers had fought the Germans in Europe earlier in the war. We also had officers from the Royal Air Force, Royal Canadian Air Force, Royal Australian Air Force and the U.S. Army Air Corps.
One of the most interesting Americans was Major Paul Putman, USMC. He had shot down (in his F4F) several Japanese planes when they attacked Wake Island. There also was 2nd Lt. Henry "Spider" Webb, younger brother of James Webb, head of NASA under Pres. Lyndon Johnson, who had his big toe shot off by a Japanese strafer on Wake Island while running for a foxhole. Another officer was 2nd Lt. Dave Kleiwer, USMC. When a Japanese submarine appeared off Wake Island, Dave radioed back to his base on Wake Island, "Sighted sub, sank same." All three of these marines survived the war.
The food gradually got worse and worse. The rations were thinner and thinner. On the other side of a high board fence topped with barbed wire was a Japanese bakery, which supplied bread and hardtack for the Japanese troops stationed at Zentsuji. We could smell the bread baking in the bakery ovens. Some of the American prisoners began to go under the fence at night to raid the bakery. I decided to make an attempt in the beginning of June, 1945. We were literally starving at this time. Food was very scarce. Everyone had lost a lot of weight and became very weak.
There was a hole under the fence which was partly camouflaged. I made the break at night carrying a burlap sack in my hand in which to bring back the loot. But, unfortunately, my luck ran out. While crawling under the fence, my shirt got caught on the barbed wire. While I was extracting myself, I made a slight noise, loud enough to attract the Japanese sentry, about thirty yards away, who at the end of his route. Hearing the noise, he turned and saw me under the floodlight. He dashed over with his bayoneted rifle and sounded the alarm. I froze so he wouldn't shoot me. I could see the Japanese soldier was just a youngster and probably very nervous. I didn't want to scare him so that's why I froze. I was calmer than he was. I let loose with an expletive, "Oh, s—t." The sergeant of the guard came with several soldiers. My hands were tied behind my back and I was marched off to the M.P. Headquarters, "Kempai."
I knew they were going to torture me, so I said, "Well, let's get it over with." I was beaten with kendo sticks across the back and buttocks. My hands were twisted behind my back and I had pencils wedged between my fingers to break the skin as they twisted my hands. After being tortured for about a half an hour (beaten and questioned) they then led me back to camp and put me in the brig in solitary confinement. They stripped me down to my shorts. This was in June, 1945, when the mosquitoes were thick and very hungry at night. During the day the mosquitoes would leave me and the flies would take over, making life miserable. The brig had a wooden floor and a high window with wooden bars. My barracks leader came twice a day to bring me my rations, which had been cut in half and consisted of one-half cup of rice and a cup of thin soup.
I was in the brig for nine days and then the camp was broken up. The Australian and British prisoners were taken to one camp, Dutch to another and the Americans to Roku Roshi, an old army post in the mountains.
Roku Roshi was 2,000 feet above sea level on the west coast of Honshu, overlooking the Japan Sea. We knew at once that Roku Roshi would be a death camp. A veteran POW could smell a death camp as soon as he entered it. The conditions here were very bad because of the cool climate, the lack of food and the harsh treatment of the prisoners by the guards.
We had to break ground to raise vegetables for food. I volunteered for the brush cutting detail. We cut down brush and small trees on the mountain side using a hatchet and small saw, and then burned the brush. Next was the ground breaking detail, which was very hard, and then, finally, preparing the land for sowing. We planted sweet potatoes, daikons, cabbage and vegetables that would grow in this cool climate.
One day we killed a large snake, about four feet long, which we skinned and roasted on the brush fire. Someone had curry powder which we sprinkled on it for seasoning. We divided the snake among us, each man getting a piece about 4-5 inches long. The meat was white with very fine, delicate bones, and tasted delicious.
On August 6, 1945, the first atom bomb fell on Hiroshima, 300 miles away. The Japanese told us that an illegal bomb had been dropped by the Americans. We could see the smoke from Hiroshima as the sun rose through a red haze. On the seventeenth of August, all work was discontinued in the camp. Then on the twenty-second of August, the Japanese captain called in our senior officers for consultation to his office. Twenty minutes later, our senior officers, under Col. Marion Unruh, U.S. Army Air Corps, made an announcement in the barracks to the whole camp. "Gentlemen, I have an important announcement to make. Gentlemen, the war is over!!" Pandemonium broke loose. Somebody shouted, "Who won?!," and we laughed. We were delirious with joy.
We sent a delegation of three officers under Maj. Bill Orr, Reg. Army, to Tokyo in a Japanese army truck to contact the Americans who had arrived in Japan. Meanwhile, we had orders to paint the huge letters P.W. on the roof of the barracks. We needed food. The mayor of Roku Roshi brought in a truckload of squash, pumpkin and other vegetables.
On September 2, 1945, the day of the surrender on the deck of the battleship, USS Missouri, three B-29's flew over the camp through the overcast and parachuted tons of food down to us. I, myself, was flat on my back with severe diarrhea because I had eaten too much rice. When I heard the drone of engines, I watched these beautiful B-29 "superforts" parachuting food down to us. One of the bundles of food broke loose from a parachute and landed near me. I spied a box containing tropical chocolate bars, so I sat down and ate six or eight of them right away. Within a short time my diarrhea cleared up. We divided the rations among the 300 men in the camp. Everyone got a burlap sack full of rations, which included canned goods, K-rations, C-rations, canned corn beef, Spam, and canned fruit cocktail. This was the first time we had ever seen the new K-rations.
Then we broke the fence around the camp and used it for cook fires. There were cook fires all around the camp going twenty-four hours a day. I spent the happiest week of my life. I'd wake up anytime, day or night, break out some of my rations and go to the nearest cook fire, heat up my rations and sit around and "chew the fat." Then back to the sack to rest up and sleep a couple of hours. Then up again and eat up more food. I put on forty pounds the first thirty days.
On September 8, 1945, a Japanese army truck came up the mountain road with an American doctor and two nurses, accompanied by an army guard. We were checked over to see that everyone at least was mobile. Only one man had died in this camp, 2nd Lt. Jim Mallett, an infantry officer. We christened camp Roku Roshi, "Camp Mallett."
We were taken by train to Yokohama, Japan's principal seaport, and there we were given breakfast of all the pancakes we could eat. General of the Army, Douglas MacArthur, came to the port area to see us. There was "Doug" with his famous battered garrison cap, corncob pipe and his cane. (MacArthur never carried a sidearm.)
The American Naval and Marine Corps officers were taken by ship to Guam. The Army and Air Corp. officers were taken to Manila, Philippines, and processed (given dress uniforms, shots, etc.). I was given worm capsules to get rid of worms that I had. I waited for air transport back to the States. I did not want to be on a ship.
On October 7, 1945, we took off from Manila in a C54 transport plane and flew eastward across the Pacific bound for the States. We had four stops for refueling and overnight stay. The first stop was Guam, second Kwajalein Atoll in the Marshalls, third was Johnston Island, west of Hawaii, then Hickham Field, Oahu, Hawaii, and finally, on October 10, 1945, we flew over the Golden Gate bridge and landed at Fairfield-Suisun air base (later Travis, A.F.B.). We were taken by bus from Travis to Letterman General Hospital in the Presidio, San Francisco. I was in hospital for five days, getting checked out.
On October 15, 1945, I boarded a hospital train, with about fifty other ex-P.O.W.'s, bound for Chicago. We arrived three days later, on October 18, in Chicago. I went to Marshall Fields store in the Loop and purchased gifts for my mother and dad. Then I took a cab to Maywood to my parents home, which I had never seen before. There on the front porch my mother and dad were waiting. I dashed up the porch steps and swept my dear mother into my arms. The long lost boy was home at last, after an absence of four years.
I entered Vaughn General Hospital for a complete medical examination and treatment that I needed for my many ills. In June, 1946, I went on terminal leave and was separated from the service after five and one-half years in the army.
I applied for admission into the Society of Jesus and was accepted. On September 1, 1946, I entered Milford Novitiate and began my religious life. I have been a Jesuit ever since. My ambition as a Jesuit was to be a missionary. I kept volunteering for the missions for Japan and India, where the Chicago Province of the Jesuits had missions. Year after year I was turned down. Finally, in June of 1960, Father Bill Schmidt, S.J., the Provincial of the Chicago Province, called me on the phone, "You still want to go to Peru?" (Tacna, Peru, was given to the Chicago Province as a new mission just a year before.) Then, knowing that this was my last chance to be a missionary, I said, "YES!" That summer I went to Georgetown University, Washington, D.C., for an intensive course in Spanish. On October 15, 1960, Father Bob Beckman and I left New York harbor on the S.S. Santa Catalina, a Gracelines Lines feighter bound for Callao (Lima), Peru.
I spent thirty-eight years in Peru, working with the poor as a parish priest and missionary to the Andean Indians of southern Peru. I loved my work very much. I loved Peru. For me, Peru is my second country, only less dear to me than the United States, itself. I'm now living in semi-retirement at Colombiere Center, Clarkston, Michigan.
"Finis coronat opus"