Letter to the Editor:

From Bob Reed, SFA Chapter 78 member

I am a retired dentist. I remember a patient, a WW2 veteran I treated in the early 1980’s. First time I saw him he was about 6’2”, 220 pounds with not an ounce of fat on his body, looked like a Marine Corps enlistment ad, solid. As we went through his treatment over the next year or so, we became acquainted with each other. I found out he was a WW2 veteran and a POW. He found I was a Viet Nam Veteran and my father was a Navy WW2 veteran who never spoke of his experiences in the war. We talked about what we did back in our service days. My stories were very lame, his not so much and I want to share that story today, so the story doesn’t die with me. This is the result of many minutes of conversation between the two of us. The big picture came out fairly quickly and easily, the details, the nuances to make it all fit together, not so quickly or easily.

He entered the US Army an 18 year old high school grad in the middle of 1940. He did basic training at Fort Ord in infantry. After training he got orders and was shipped to the Philippines. He told me they left San Francisco by ship sailing under the recently finished Golden Gate Bridge and arrived in Honolulu in a few weeks. After a few days in Honolulu, they shipped out to the Philippines and arrived a few weeks later.

They trained in the Philippines, in the jungle, for a few months, and he loved it. He told me he made PFC, private first class and was very proud of his promotion. In early December of 1941, the 8th of December, he told me that they were notified that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor the morning of December 7 and to be on the lookout for an attack on the Philippines at any time. As they were getting ready for an attack, the Japanese started bombing Manila and soon sent troops to take the Island. He was involved in combat against the Japanese Army, wounded in combat after a few weeks, and sent to Manila for treatment.

He was still in treatment when the US Army surrendered, mainly, he said, because they ran out of needed supplies, ammunition, food, etc. Because he was being treated, he did not participate in the Bataan Death March. He didn’t find out about the death march until after the war was over. So much he didn’t know until later.

He told me that American nurses helped treat him of his combat injuries for which he was very grateful as they did a great job. After his recovery, he, along with many other wounded soldiers, were sent to Japan on a freighter. Crammed into the hold, little food, little water, little room. Very bad, many died and when the bodies were removed from the hold, they were simply thrown overboard, no services, very depressing and made him very angry. All the troops stuck together as best they could. When soldiers were sent topside to throw bodies overboard, they were given water which they took below to be shared by everyone.

When they reached Japan, he and a few others, were sent to work in a coal mine somewhere in the south of Japan, he knows not where really. The coal mine was not fenced in, no guard towers because where would they go? They were assigned to barrack type buildings that I assume were occupied by the mine workers before the war. After the war started, most of those workers, except the elderly, were sent to fight in the war.

Regarding this time, he said, “We were assigned a barrack building, given work clothes that were too small, but it is what it is. We were given blankets to sleep on the existing beds with, and were fed food by Japanese women, in a rice bowl, once a day. Sometimes, if the guards felt we worked hard we would get an extra meal, but not very often. The existing workers in the mine, mostly older men, taught us how to do what we needed to do. Load the mine carts, push them to the outside of the mine, empty the carts, and do it again, and again, all day. We had no idea of time, dates, etc. We just worked every day from dawn to dark even though they were in a coal mine.”

He told me he was beaten, starved, basically treated like “shit,” his words. He knew he was losing weight as he could tell he was getting weaker. Of the 2-3 armed guards looking after them, one was especially mean, he said really mean. He felt like he was being picked on more than the other prisoners by that guard no matter what he did. He said he just did the best he could to avoid the beatings, but they still occurred.

What was frustrating, he said, was that they had no idea of time or dates. They had no calendars, no watches, could not speak Japanese, although he said he picked up enough phrases to get some idea of what they wanted. All they were able to do was count the winters and summers and mark that on some paper, away from prying eyes.

After some time had passed, he thinks maybe 4 years, he was shocked when a US Army Jeep with three American soldiers pulled up outside the mine and a lieutenant told them all that the war was over. They were told someone would be back tomorrow to take them to a safe location. They were all obviously thrilled.

That night, he told me that he and another POW took care of the mean guard. I asked him what they did, he replied they “took care of the guard” and he would never bother anyone ever again. That was all he said about “taking care of the guard”. No more details but the inflection in his voice made it clear to me what they had done.

The next day, they were all driven to an airport, a collection location where the POWs were sent. Then the POWs were flown to the Philippines, evaluated for a few days by Army Doctors. He told me he weighed less than 120 lbs. when they weighed him. After a few days in the Philippines, they were put on a ship to go back home. Another stop at Pearl Harbor for a few days, depressed at the damage he saw, and then back to the States.

They sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge and got off the ship. At the bottom of the gangway was a soldier telling them that all POW’s were to go this way. All the POWs on the ship, and there were many, were sent to barracks, given rooms, new uniforms, and clothes, and weighed again. He was happy to have gained about 10 lbs. since he left the Philippines.

The next day they were all divided into groups of 20 or so. Each group was put into a classroom with a moderator and told they were going to stay there until each soldier had told his story, answered questions, asked question and felt they had it all “off their chest” as he put it. He said he did not want to talk about what happened to him. In fact, he said very few people wanted to talk. But he told me the moderater, who was a combat veteran, would not take no for an answer, and began each session with questions, many questions, for all the guys in the room.

He said eventually everyone opened up, but it took a lot of time for this to happen, and he is glad it did. He said getting it all out in the open helped him realize everyone had bad stuff happen to them and their fellow soldiers, not just him. He said it was the best time he spent to help put all that happened away, into the background. Changed everything for him, and he said the same was true for almost everyone else.

He said he is fine now. He has no nightmares, no bad dreams. He said he has a happy family with children. We never spoke of his family, never met his wife or children. He also said he had never told anyone outside that day at Letterman Hospital, all the things he told me, and he appreciated me listening to him; I told him I was honored to hear it and until now have told no one.

It seems to me that if the returning Viet Nam combat vets had been able to talk about their experiences as he did, there would probably be a lot less PTSD. Just my opinion.