David,
Your post got me to thinking. Last year, upon the death of my mother, I came into possession of many letters that her brother, Peter, had written from the Philippine Islands, just prior to our involvement in WWII. My uncle had left small town New Hampshire to join the Army Air Corps. Anyway, when the Philippines fell to the Japanese, my uncle, and thousands of other Americans and Filipinos, undertook what became known as the Bataan Death March. My uncle survived the march but died in the Japanese Prison Camp. I hope to have all of his letters transcribed. Below is the first one I had done. As I re-read it, I feel saddened that I don't have the sense of duty that my uncle, for whom I was named, did. A warning, this is longer than the normal Baerwald Message Board posting. Perhaps it will touch some of you. Oh, almost forgot, my uncle was about 21 when he wrote this.
October 6, 1941
Dear Aunts Jane and Elizabeth,
I truly believe it came as a great surprise to everyone when they learned I had joined the Army. It all happened rather quickly, and was as much a surprise to me as to anyone, when I stopped to take stock of the situation. But I don’t regret it at all. After being in the service a year – last September 16th – I’m afraid I can’t say that I’ve learned much as far as factual learning is concerned, but I have had a few interesting experiences. It seems that I recall a sage who said, “There is no sense in living, if during the lifetime some memories have not been stored away for future reference” – or words to that effect; and I think the old boy was right. At least I have my little store of memories that I hold quite dear; though, unfortunately, none of the ones I hold dearest are the result of my Army experience, but seem to have originated back at school.
I enlisted in Manchester, about one week before I was supposed to return to the University at Durham. It all happened on the spur of the moment – I still wonder if I foresaw all the expansion to come in the armed forces, and wanted to be an early bird, or whether I was simply rebellious at the idea of another session with the books. Nevertheless I found myself in the Army Air Corps, solely through my own choice. The man who voluntarily enlists is given the choice of posts, in as many cases as possible – and I chose the Philippines. I was offered posts at Fort Devens, Mass., Panama, Hawaii, or my present station, and I chose the last with the feeling that I would be getting a little farther out from under conditions so much like home. I expected a true native atmosphere to be awaiting me – a place where the so called American Way had not progressed to any great extent. But I was wrong, and I find these islands well on the way to being quite American. In the more populated sections English is spoken very well, though everyone [sic] of the natives has his own tribal dialect to fall back on in an emergency. The school system has not been developed to the extent one would imagine, from observing the rest of the country. I have read that there are a half million persons of school age who have no means of obtaining an education, as yet, though schools are becoming more numerous. There are some excellent universities in Manila, and their curricula would compare with the average colleges in the States.
In 1946, the Commonwealth is supposedly to become freed of all dependency to the United States. But in view of the warlike attitude of our neighbors from the Land of the Rising Sun, I very much fear they will ask us to stick by them. Without the American forces in the islands, it would be a fairly easy job for a large, well-trained, army to take over. As it is today, with many thousands of American troops here – and the Navy – it would be a rash attempt on Japan’s part to assume an agressive [sic] attitude in this direction. I do not expect the Philippines to accept their freedom in 1946.
Had an interesting journey from New York to the islands. My first station was at Fort Slocum, N.Y. where I spent four months waiting for the Army Transport “Leonard Wood” which took us to San Francisco via Charleston, South Carolina, and the Panama Canal. After five days at Fort McDowell in San Francisco bay, we boarded the transport “U.S. Grant” and due to engine trouble, we were forced to lay over at Honolulu for four or five days. Next stop was Guam, and while we couldn’t see all of the island, we were able to get a good idea of its general appearance. Arrived in Manila on February 20, and ten days later was assigned to Clark Field to join the newly formed 28th Materièl Squadron. It was sometime before we learned what a “Materièl Squadron” was supposed to do. The first weeks were spent in drill, and then [we] were assigned to different jobs. I started out doing the dirty work, which wasn’t bad because it gave me a chance to work in the sun and develop a rather becoming suntan. Since then I have spent twelve weeks in a classroom, while a sweating instructor tried to make radio operators out of a group of twenty of us, who were too sweaty ourselves to absorb much of what he had to offer. There are a good many highly educated men in the Army, and our radio instructor was a good example. Since the school was completed, he has passed his officers training school examinations, and I imagine that he is now in, or enroute to, the States, where he will spend several months at the Signal Corps Officers School at Fort Monmouth, New Jersey.
The future, as far as warfare is concerned, holds no fear for me. If the Japanese want war over here, the sooner they start, the better. I didn’t join the Army with a fluttering of flags or flourish of drums – I imagine I did it because it seemed the proper thing to do, because of the general state of the world. I’m not one who has the least respect for those flag-waving patriots who shout about preserving Democracy. The idea of preserving the flag would not enter my mind at all when the bombs start falling, because I would accept the battle as something I was destined for – win or lose. There has been at least one war in every mans [sic] life, and I don’t expect to have any exception made in my case. The idea of being killed doesn’t strike me favorably, but death is inevitable and man, the beast, runs that risk when he declares a war, or plans a defensive action.
No, it’s not the war that frightens me, it’s what’s going to happen after the peace treaty is signed. It makes no difference what kind of peace is reached – the world will be worse off for whatever kind is decided upon. To put it quite bluntly – the end of the war will see the end of need for war materials. Factories will close – millions of acres of floor space in mills will lie idle, and millions of people will find themselves out of jobs. Then comes the demobilization of the army, and another million or so men are looking for jobs. I’ll be one of the latter, and it’s a dark future from my stand point.
Shakespeare wrote[,] “Each (man) in his time plays many parts.” I prefer to look at myself as destined to live in three worlds. The first, the one I knew before my life in the Army; – where everything went along fairly smoothly, and my life had its patterns that I could change at will. The second world is my Army world. Strict regimentation, as practiced in Fascist countries, is not evidenced, but I feel suppressed in many ways. My clothing is allotted me, so I’m always sure of the color suit I’ll wear, I know what and where I’ll eat, and if I go anywhere, I know exactly how long I’ll be gone. The third world hasn’t been born yet, but it’s bound to appear. It will be a chaotic mess, with disorder rampant. The first and second world [sic] will seem heavenly compared to the distorted features of this new one. Everyone will be lost – no goal, no hope, just existence with the will to stay alive as the only driving force behind the individuals. I hope to God that I do not lose myself in this third world. Only the best will survive, and the best will have to be very, very good. I wonder if I can picture myself as one the “Best” – I can’t!
I don’t know whether I’m really so terribly worried about the future, though – it seems far away. And yet it appears close – too close for comfort. Thank goodness I’m not the worrying kind – I like to live from day to day, getting the most I can from each revolution of the clock. Some other philosopher said words[,] to wit, “yesterday is past, today is here, tomorrow may never come. Live for today, forget yesterday, and don’t worry about tomorrow.” Maybe he had something there.
I am enjoying myself here – it’s a grand experience. I often wonder how you folks are. Several of my companions are native Chicagoans – but I fear none of them have made your acquaintances. Letters are always welcome, and I would appreciate an answer to my ravings. I hope you can convince me that the future is not as black as I have painted it.
Many thanks for your postal card recently received.
With best regards to [you] both,
Peter Young
28th Materièl Sqdn.
Clark Field, Pampanga
Philippines Islands
