1
10
2
-
https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/26015/archive/files/afb637413cb055dd530f92cb5ceadaac.pdf?Expires=1712793600&Signature=r3HFDCcZYoJSz3AurThRv3Hs37FWkG6DsuJd0Ma7BdJPUWX-96A5SoLn05yYdG7FXV3He06fPkm27U6IPHkFZBjNR7%7E6f%7EDfdaHqyNqo3lZjYZRIcv4-OjpVcuFSSx3USE%7En--y4Mhcy9WtaNHUAEqAxEI5racv1UiCurKFtKAREfOHnw9tWx126cx1xxR%7ENjyyIrBPaSSj0NwWxFYepqnxz3shEL58pclTf4F9c-d8K8LL73gO1W5R32JwzfKJ4Q1bchyAQNVVIedI4fW4T7f91QCmpjxQqpsfk4mzDZG6-XXX%7E3OOyVz5kgpzOPxQC8VvLtWO5YsY9kw6%7Et96a8Q__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM
a71bab86bdc509eb98e916cfad3c56c1
PDF Text
Text
to love and serve
world war II chaplains of the
new england province of jesuits
Edited by Joseph P. Duffy, S.J., Boston College
�dedicated to:
graduates of new england jesuit higher education
and secondary school institutions
who died serving their country
�to love and serve
Table of Contents
6 – 7
5
Acknowledgements
31–32
Bronze Star Medal
Introduction
33
Navy and Marine
Corps Medal
34
Air Force Commendation Medal
35
Army Commendation Medal
36
chapter 4
37 In Their Own Words
chapter 1
8 – 9
First Chaplain
chapter 2
10 Men for Others
11 – 25
Chaplain Service Records
chapter 3
26 – 36 The Medals and the Men
2
6 – 27
Citations and Awards
28
Medal of Honor
29
30
Purple Heart
Legion of Merit
3 | table of contents
38–39
40–41
Fighting in France
The Bravest Man
I Ever Knew
42–43
Benemerenti Medal
44–58
The American Spirit
Journey to Morocco
�to love and serve
Table of Contents (continued)
59
Battlefield Promotion
60
Darwin’s Dead
82–86
61–64
Worship in Wartime
65–68
Parable of Redemption
Pastoral Ministry
69
70–73
The Padre Reports
74–79
Veterans Day Remembrance
80
Afterword
81
New England Province
Military Chaplains,
1918–2014
87–89
New England Province
Military Chaplains,
Number By Year,
1942–2014
90
New England Province
Military Chaplains,
Post World War II
91–93
4 | table of contents
Appendices
Photo Gallery
�to love and serve
Acknowledgements
this volume would not have been possible without the exhaustive research of
gerard f. giblin, s.j. on jesuits as chaplains in the armed forces. Much of this story
of New England Province Jesuit Chaplains in World War II is built on that firm foundation.
More immediately I am indebted to David Horn, Special Projects Librarian, Burns Library,
Boston College and Shelley Barber, Reference and Archives Specialist, Burns Library, for their
cooperation, especially in retrieving materials.
D
eserving special appreciation is Alice
Howe, Curator of Collections, New England Jesuit Archives, College of the Holy
Cross. Her editing, formatting and constructive
suggestions were immensely helpful. She was also
more than generous with her time during my visits
to Holy Cross and provided for my review and consideration everything that I requested as well as additional materials she thought might be of interest.
And worthy of special mention is Ben Birnbaum,
Executive Director, Office of Marketing Communications, for his interest in and his support of this
5 | acknowledgements
project and for making available the expertise
of his staff in bringing it to completion.
I also wish to acknowledge America and
Company magazines for granting permission
to reprint articles from their publications that
are valuable contributions to this story of a
special time in Jesuit and American history.
Finally, my deep gratitude to my good friend
and colleague, the late Dr. Thomas H. O’Connor,
University Historian, Boston College, for his
constant encouragement, gentle guidance and
professional assistance all along the way.
�to love and serve
Introduction
In the Contemplation on the Love of God that concludes the Spiritual Exercises of St.
Ignatius, the grace petitioned is that one “may be able in all things to love and serve”1
the Lord. That ideal of love and service is at the heart of the Jesuit vocation and the
motivating force behind whatever apostolic activities are undertaken on behalf of
the People of God. That this extends to the men and women in the armed forces of their
respective countries should come as no surprise. Such service has been part of Jesuit history
since its earliest years.
R
ev. James Laynez, S.J., who succeeded St.
Ignatius as General of the Society of Jesus,
was the first Jesuit to serve as a military
chaplain. In 1550 he was invited by John de Vega
to accompany him and his men in a war against
pirates in the eastern Mediterranean. As chaplain
Laynez ministered to both the physical and spiritual needs of the fighting forces. From this experience he offered advice about engaging chaplains
in the military to John de la Cerda, who had been
appointed Viceroy of Sicily after de Vega’s death.
“I believe that our Lord will be very well served
and Your Excellency much consoled if you send
some good religious along on this expedition, men
who will be true servants of God and who will seek
the salvation of souls. By prayer and good example,
by preaching and hearing confessions, by nursing the sick and helping the dying, these men will
do a tremendous amount of good. They will teach
the soldiers the proper motives for fighting, keep
them from quarreling among themselves, and will
call them to task for blasphemies and gambling.
Finally, I know that the soldiers of our nation will
really profit from this, for by their peace of mind
and confidence in God they will better fulfill their
2
duties in the war.”
Despite all the changes over the centuries in
how wars are conducted, the role of the Catholic
chaplain has remained essentially the same in our
own nation as well as in nations throughout the
world. And Jesuits have been leaders among those
who have served their various countries with honor
and distinction. Rev. Gerard F. Giblin, S.J. has
documented the records of Jesuits in the United
States who served in the Armed Forces from 1917
3
to 1960. Building on his detailed report, this
volume focuses on Jesuits from the New England
Province during World War II. At its peak in 1945,
246 American Jesuits were serving at chaplains.
The second largest number was from the New
England Province (54); only the New York
Province had more (59).
They were a part of what Tom Brokaw has
called “The Greatest Generation.” They responded
to our nation’s and our world’s need in the
company of and in support of young men mostly,
1 The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola. (New York: Catholic Book Publishing, 1956), 115.
2 Joseph H. Fichter, James Laynez, Jesuit. (St. Louis, B. Herder Book Co., 1944), 277.
6 | introduction
�to love and serve
Introduction (continued)
much younger than themselves, and many
thousands of whom gave their lives in the
fight for freedom. All of these Chaplains have
long since gone to their eternal reward and,
like those whom and with whom they served,
with stories untold. Through their service
records, citations for “conspicuous gallantry
and intrepidity,” “meritorious achievement”
and “heroic conduct,” and in their own and in
the words of others, we catch a glimpse, not
only of their own generous service and often
courageous accomplishments, but also of their
appreciation and admiration for the youth of
our nation and for what one Chaplain described
as “The American Spirit.”
May 2014
Joseph P. Duffy, S.J.
3 Gerard F. Giblin, “Jesuits as Chaplains in the Armed Forces,” Woodstock Letters, 89, 323-482.
7 | introduction
�chapter 1 | to love and serve
First Chaplain
in american jesuit history one of the first to serve as a chaplain in the military was
none other than the renowned fr. john mcelroy, s.j., founder of boston college. For
reasons pragmatic and political rather than religious or spiritual, President James Polk was
anxious to have Catholic priests appointed as chaplains to American troops in the war
against Mexico.
W
ith the help of three Roman Catholic
bishops, he was able to secure the
services of Fr. John McElroy, S.J. at
the age of 64 and Fr. Anthony Rey, S.J., who
was 39 years of age.
The nature of their appointment was spelled
out in a letter to Fr. McElroy from the Secretary
of War W. L. Marcy. “It is proper that I should
apprize you that the existing laws do not authorize
the President to appoint and commission chaplains,
but he has authority to employ persons to perform
4
such duties as appertain to chaplains.” Marcy had
requested Fr. McElroy for his views of what those
duties might include and he was evidently pleased
that Marcy expressed them in his letter to General
Zachary Taylor, notifying him of their assignment.
“…it is his (Polk’s) wish that they be received in that
character (as chaplains) by you and your officers,
be respected as such and be treated with kindness
and courtesy – that they should be permitted to
have intercourse with the soldiers of the Catholic
Faith – to administer to them religious instruction,
to perform divine service for such as may wish to
attend whenever it can be done without interfering
with their military duties, and to have free access to
5
the sick or wounded in hospitals or elsewhere.”
After a long and difficult journey Father
McElroy arrived in Matamoras, Mexico where he
remained for a little more than ten months in 1846
and 1847 during which time he had been almost
constantly sick, suffering from a hernia condition.
This became so painful that some six months after
his arrival in Matamoras he was unable to mount a
horse to carry him around to the various hospitals.
Still it was in the various army hospitals that most
of his apostolic work was accomplished. His routine
involved daily Mass in a covered shed which served
as a sacristy, visits to the various buildings used as
hospitals, other visits to either troops moving up to
support the U. S. Army or returning units awaiting
discharge. As if this were not enough, in whatever
time he could spare, he began classes for the children of both merchants and Army personnel and
giving instructions to converts to Catholicism.
But apparently because of his age and physical
condition, in April 1847 he was directed by his
religious superior to return to Georgetown as soon
as convenient. (His fellow chaplain, Fr. Anthony
Rey, S.J., had been murdered by highway robbers
in 1847 during this conflict.) Before his return he
reflected on his ministry in Mexico and on the good
that can be accomplished in serving as a chaplain
4 John McElroy, “Chaplains for the Mexican War – 1846,” Woodstock Letters, 15, 200.
5 Ibid., 201.
8 | first chaplain
�chapter 1 | to love and serve
to members of the military. “I am now fully convinced, though I was not at the beginning of our
Mission, that our labors in these various departments had a happy effect on sectarian soldiers and
on the country generally. Not only time was necessary on our part to learn how to treat successfully
with the soldiers, both officers and privates, but also
it is important for them to have an opportunity of
learning somewhat of our religion, from our practice and our labors. Thus I found that those who
were shy in the commencement became familiar
and confident with us in the end. I think that very
few would depart this life either on the battlefield
from their wounds, or in the hospital by disease,
without accepting or calling for our ministry. It is in
such functions, our religion becomes in their eyes,
what it always was, a religion based upon charity,
6
having for its divine author the God of charity.”
A local newspaper offered an affirmation
of the impact that his presence as chaplain had on
the local community. “We are quite sure we express
the sentiments of every citizen of Matamoras when
we say it has sustained a loss in the departure from
our midst of Father McElroy. He was ever ready to
impart instruction or administer consolation to the
afflicted. His was not that cold, austere piety that
enshrouds itself in the cloak of bigotry and freezes
into an iceberg those who have been taught a different mode of worship. He held no one to accountability for a difference of opinion; his heart pulsated
only with devotion to his supreme Lord and Master,
7
and peace and good will to the human family.”
A later historian commented: “More good came
of Fr. McElroy’s and Fr. Rey’s chaplaincy than
McElroy could know. The two priests set an exemplary model in the Mexican war which their fellow
Catholic chaplains would follow in many later conflicts. They ministered to Catholic and non-Catholic
alike, to the enemy as well as their own people,
8
regardless of political or religious differences.”
The effects of their inspiring example are evident in
the dedicated service of the New England Province
Jesuits who have followed in their footsteps.
His loss to the citizens of Matamoras was to be
Boston’s gain where he was missioned upon his
return from Mexico and oversaw the founding of
Boston College, that, today, more than 150 years later
stands as the greatest monument in his memory.
6 John McElroy, “Chaplains for the Mexican War – 1846,” Woodstock Letters, 16, 228.
7 Ibid., 229.
8 Steven O’Brien, “Soldiers in Black: Father John McElroy and Father Anthony Rey in the Mexican-American War,”
Papers of the Bi-National Conference on the War between Mexico and the United States, ed. Douglas A. Murphy.
(Brownsville, TX: National Park Service, 1997).
9 | first chaplain
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Men for Others
world war ii chaplain service records
anyone involved with jesuit education for the past 40 years is familiar with the phrase,
“men for others” or its more recent and more inclusive variations, “men and women for others” or “persons for others.” It was first used by Father Pedro Arrupe, S.J., 28th General of the
Society of Jesus, in an address to the International Congress of Jesuit Alumni of Europe at
Valencia, Spain on July 31, 1973.
H
e stated that “our prime educational objective must be to form men-for-others…
men who cannot even conceive of love
of God which does not include love for the least
of our neighbors; men completely convinced that
love of God which does not issue in justice for men
9
is a farce.” The phrase with its ideal of unselfish
service has application in every area of our lives.
The military service records of our Jesuit chaplains
document such application in their readiness and
willingness to undertake any assignment, at home
or abroad, in which they can provide religious worship, supply moral support and spiritual guidance,
and bring the Sacraments to the sick, wounded and
dying under even the most dangerous and difficult
circumstances. For Americans engaged in the
struggle for peace in our country and around the
globe in World War II, they embodied what it truly
means to be “men for others.”
In an effort to achieve uniformity, where available, the following information has been included
in the service records:
n Name, dates of birth, entrance into Jesuits,
ordination and date of death.
n Date of commission and branch of service.
n Serial number.
n Date of appointment to various ranks.
n Place and date of assignments.
n Date of release from service.
n If recalled, second tour of duty.
n Awards.
This information is compiled from “Jesuits as Chaplains in the Armed Forces” by Gerard F. Giblin, S.J.,
Woodstock Letters, 89, 323-482.
9 Pedro Arrupe, “Men for Others,” Justice with Faith Today, ed. Jerome Aixala. (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources,
1980), 124.
10 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
john l. barry, s.j.
Born: 13 Jan 1911. Entered Jesuits: 9 Nov 1928. Ordained: 23 Jun 1940. Died: 3 Mar 1987. Commissioned
as First Lieutenant in the Army: 11 May 1945. Serial number: 0931664. To rank of Captain: 31 March 1953.
Assignment: Fort Jackson, SC (1945 to 1946).Recalled to active duty: Aug 1951. Assignments: Fort Leonard
Wood, MO (Aug 1951 to Dec 1951); Camp Gifu, Japan (Mar 1952 to May 1952); 11th Evacuation Hospital, Korea (May 1952 to Sep 1952); 7 th Division Artillery (Sep 1952 to Aug 1953); Fort Lee, VA (Sep 1953
to May 1955); Berlin, Germany (May 1955 to Feb 1958); Göppingen, Germany (Feb 1958 to Apr 1959);
Headquarters, 5th USA, Chicago (May 1959 to 1970) Awards: Bronze Star; Purple Heart.
john l. bonn, s.j.
Born: 23 Oct 1906. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1923. Ordained: 23 Jun 1935. Died: 17 Jan 1975. Commissioned
as Lieutenant (j.g.) in the Navy 7 Apr 1943. Serial number: 307221. To Lieutenant: 1 Jan 1945. Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (13 Sep 1943 to 7 Nov 1943); Naval Training Station, Great
Lakes, IL (19 Nov 1943 to 22 Jan 1944); Naval Air Station, Ottumwa, IA (27 Jan 1944 to 21 Oct 1944);
13th Naval District (Northwest coast of U.S.: 2 Jan 1945 until relieved of duty). Reverted to inactive status: 31
Oct 1945. Retired from Naval Reserve: 1 Jan 1954.
bernard r. boylan, s.j.
Born: 5 May 1905. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1924. Ordained 21 Jun 1936. Died: 29 Jan 1978. Commissioned
as Lieutenant (j.g.) in the Navy: 6 Mar 1943. Serial number: 262652. To Lieutenant: 1 Jun 1944. Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (18 Apr 1943 to 6 Jun 1943); Naval Hospital, New River, NC
(18 Jun 1943 to 7 Apr 1944); with Commander, 7 th Fleet, Australia (Apr 1944 to 14 Jun 1945); 88th Naval
Construction Battalion, New Guinea (14 Jun 1945 to 8 Oct 1945); Naval Air Base #3964, Philippines
(8 Oct 1945 to 14 Dec 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 28 Mar 1946. Appointed Lieutenant Commander
in the Naval Reserve. Resigned from the Naval Reserve: 9 Feb 1951. Award: Navy and Marine Corps Medal.
thomas a. brennan, s.j.
Born: 27 Dec 1895. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1915. Ordained: 20 Jun 1928. Died: 27 Dec 1967. Appointed to the
Army: 4 Apr 1945. Serial number: 0931744. Assignments: Chaplain School, Fort Devens, MA (11 May
1945 to 22 Jun 1945); Fort Mason, San Francisco, CA (22 Jun 1945 to 7 Jul 1945); Camp Stoneman, CA
(7 Jul 1945 to 14 Jul 1945); Fort Ord, CA (14 Jul 1945 to 17 Apr 1946). Reverted to inactive status: 17 May
1946. Retired as Captain in the Officers’ Reserve Corps: 1946.
11 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Laurence M. Brock, S.J.
Born: 30 May 1903. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1923. Ordained: 21 Jun 1935. Died: 9 Feb 1989. Appointed
to the Army: 16 Jan 1941. Serial number: 0403400. To rank of Major: (182nd Infantry, Mass. N. G.)
15 Nov. 1947; to Lieutenant Colonel: 12 Apr 1958. Assignments: 182nd Infantry Regiment, 26th Division,
Camp Edwards, MA (1941); 182nd Regiment, 26th Division, Southwest Pacific Area (1942 to 1944); Fort
Devens, MA (20 Jul 1944); 1448th SCU, Camp Blanding, FL (13 Nov 1944); 1400th SCU, Headquarters,
4th Service Command, Atlanta, GA (29 Jul 1945). Relieved of active duty: 15 May 1946. Award: Legion
of Merit.
Anthony G. Carroll, S.J.
Born: 9 Aug 1906. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1922. Ordained: 23 Jun 1935. Appointed to Army: 12 Jan 1940.
Serial number: 0386674. To the rank of Captain: 24 Apr 1942; to Major: 12 May 1945. Assignments: from
1942 to 1945 served with Army Air Force Units in Australia, New Guinea, Philippines and Japan. Served
in the United States and overseas with the 102nd Coast Artillery. Overseas with the following units: 380th
Bombardment Group; 8th Fighter Group; 5th Fighter Command. Reverted to inactive status: 9 Nov 1946.
John L. Clancy, S.J.
Born: 25 Oct 1903. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1922. Ordained: 20 Jun 1934. Died: 11 Apr 1984. Commissioned
in the Army as First lieutenant: 28 Dec 1937. Serial number: 0361159. To rank of Captain: 20 Jun 1942;
to Major: 27 Sep 1945. Assignments: Chaplain, Civilian Conservation Corps; Fort Edwards, MA with
68th Coast Artillery, 26th Division Special Troops, 181st Infantry Regiment; Eastern Defense Command;
Cushing General Hospital, Framingham, MA; Panamarim Field, Natal, Brazil; served also with units of
the Air Transport Command. Reverted to inactive status: 15 May 1946.JFCSJ
jeremiah f. coleman, s.j.
Born: 16 Jun 1911. Entered Jesuits: 7 Sep 1928. Ordained: 22 Jun 1940. Died: 7 May 1961. Appointed to
the Army: 6 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0549368. To the rank of Captain: 4 Apr 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (30 Apr 1944); Headquarters, 3rd Air Force, Tampa, FL (16 May 1944); 335 AAF
BU Dale Mabry Field, FL (15 Jun 1944); 354 AAF BU, Rapid City Air Base, SD (9 Nov 1945). Reverted to
inactive status: 14 Apr 1946. Recalled: 15 Jun 1951. Assignments: Camp Kilmer, NJ (1951); Germany
(1952). Returned to Camp Kilmer and relieved of active duty: 28 Oct. 1952.
12 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
J. Bryan Connors, S.J.
Born: 15 Mar 1898. Entered Jesuits: 15 Aug 1918. Ordained: 16 Jun 1931. Died: 24 Oct 1970. Appointed
to the Army: 27 Sep 1944. Serial number: 0927185. To the rank of Captain: 18 Sep 1945. Assignments:
Chaplain School, Fort Devens, MA (7 Oct 1944); Keesler Field, Biloxi, MS (1944 to 1946). Reverted to
inactive status: 20 May 1946.
Joseph P. Curran, S.J.
Born: 5 Jan 1910. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1929. Ordained: 22 Jun 1940. Appointed to the Army: 19 Apr
1944. Serial number: 0550495. To the rank of Captain: 25 Jun 1945. Assignments: Harvard Chaplain
School (30 Apr 1944); Venice, FL (12 Jun 1944 to Nov 1945), Stuttgart, AR (Nov 1945 to Dec 1945); Brooks
Field, San Antonio, TX (Dec 1945 to Jan 1946); Biggs Field, El Paso, TX (Jan 1946 to Feb. 1946); Mitchell
Field, NY (Feb 1946 to Apr 1946). Reverted to inactive status: 23 May 1946.
John F. Devlin, S.J.
Born: 25 Nov 1905. Entered Jesuits: 8 Sep 1927. Ordained: 19 Jun 1938. Died: 19 Nov 1981. Appointed
to the Army: 24 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0550793. To the rank of Captain: 18 May 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (1 May 1944); Richmond Army Air Base, VA; Camp Springs Army Air Base,
Washington, DC; Bradley Field, Windsor Locks, CT; Westover Army Air Base, Chicopee, MA; Seymour
Johnson Army Air Base, Goldsboro, NC; Charleston Army Air Base, SC; Chatham Field, Savannah, GA;
Myrtle Beach Army Air Base, SC; Shaw Field, Sumter, SC. Reverted to inactive status: 19 May 1946.
James J. Dolan, S.J.
Born: 25 Apr 1903. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1920. Ordained: 22 Jun 1933. Died: 5 Mar 1952. Appointed to
the Army: 21 Dec 1940. Serial number: 0402252. To the rank of Captain: 1 Feb 1943; To Major: 30 Jan
1946. Assignments: 63rd Coast Artillery, Fort Bliss, TX (1941); Fort Lewis, WA (1941); Hawaii (10 Dec 1941
to 30 Nov 1942; Harvard Chaplain School (30 Nov 1942); 63rd Coast Artillery, Seattle WA (Feb 1943 to
Feb 1944); 13th Replacement Depot, Hawaii (28 Mar 1944); 751st AAA, Guam and Saipan (28 Jul 1944 to
end 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 30 May 1946. Award: Bronze Star.
13 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Michael J. Doody, S.J.
Born: 25 Mar 1898. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1918. Ordained: 20 Jun 1932. Died: 10 Apr 1988. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 3 Mar 1942. Serial number: 139093. To Lieutenant Commander: 10 Jul 1945.
Assignments: Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (6 Apr 1942 to 30 May 1942); Naval Hospital, Aiea Heights,
Hawaii (21 Jun 1942 to 10 Jan 1944); Naval Air Station, Glynco, Brunswick, GA (10 Feb 1944 to 23 Nov
1944); U.S.S. Richmond (cruiser) (19 Dec 1944 to 27 Nov 1945); Personnel Separation Center, Great Lakes,
IL (12 Dec 1945 to 22 Apr 1946). Reverted to inactive status: 19 Jul 1946. Resigned from Naval Reserve:
20 Jan 1954.
William J. Duffy, S. J.
Born: 1 Jan 1902. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1918. Ordained: 16 Jun 1931. Died: 23 Jul 1998. Appointed to the
Army: 25 Jan 1944. Serial number: 0544422. To the rank of Captain: 10 Oct 1945. Assignments: Harvard
Chaplain School (10 Feb 1944); Stark General Hospital, Charleston, SC; Finney General Hospital,
Thomasville, GA; 755th Anti-Aircraft Gun Battalion, Hawaii; Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. Reverted to
inactive status: 22 Oct 1946.
John J. Dugan, S.J.
Born: 26 Jun 1897. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1915. Ordained: 20 Jun 1928. Died: 6 Dec 1964. Appointed to
Army: 28 Aug 1936. Serial number: 0348200. To the rank of Captain: 6 Feb 1941; to Major: 18 Feb 1945;
to Lieutenant Colonel (Massachusetts National Guard): 11 May 1946; separated from the Mass. National
Guard as Colonel Jun 1953; separated from the Army Reserve as Lieutenant Colonel 25 May 1954.
Assignments: Chaplain USAR, CCC, VT (Nov 1937 to Jun 1940); Fort Riley, KS (Jun 1940 to Sep 1941);
to Philippines (Oct 1941); to Bilibid Prison, Manila (20 Jun 1942); to Cabanatuan, Luzon, Prison Camp #1
(3 Jul 1942); to Cabu, Luzon, Prison Camp #3 (10 Jul 1942); to Cabanatuan, Luzon, Prison Camp # 1 (1 Nov
th
1942); liberated by 6 Ranger Battalion (30 Jan 1945); arrived in San Francisco (8 May 1945); Chaplain,
Cushing General Hospital, Framingham, MA (May 1945). Relieved of active duty: 25 Aug 1946. Recalled:
21 Jun 1948. Assignments: Randolph Field, TX (Jun 1948); Oliver General Hospital, Augusta, GA (Sep 1949);
Fort Custer, MI (Feb 1950): Camp Crawford, Hokkaido, Japan (Oct 1950); Guam (Feb 1951); Manila (Feb 1952);
Camp Stewart, Hinesville, GA (Feb 1953). Relieved of active duty: Jun 1953. Awards: Bronze Star;
Army Commendation Ribbon.
14 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Thomas A. Fay, S.J.
Born: 15 Jan 1892. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1911. Ordained: 28 Jun 1925. Died: 14 Mar 1969. Commissioned in
the United States Merchant Marine: 15 Dec 1942. Taught in Officers’ Schools on Hoffman Island, NY, Gallups
Island, Boston, and at Alameda, CA. Reached rank of Lieutenant Commander. Released from duty: Nov 1945.
Thomas P. Fay, S.J.
Born: 29 Aug 1905. Entered Jesuits: 14 Sep 1931. Ordained: 22 Jun 1940. Died: 23 Jun 1988. Appointed to
the Army: 12 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0549900. To the rank of Captain: 16 May 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (30 Apr 1944); in U. S. with 61st Ordnance Group; in U. S. and Europe with 1151
Engineer Combat Group and 3230 Engineer Service Battalion. Reverted to inactive duty status: 11 Aug
1946. Recalled 5 Aug 1948 and served with Air Force units for over a year during which time he was in
Germany for period of the Berlin Air Lift. Reverted to inactive duty: 3 Nov 1949. Award: Benemerenti
(Papal Decoration).
Bernard J. Finnegan, S.J.
Born: 9 Jan 1906. Entered Jesuits: 7 Sep 1929. Ordained: 22 Jun 1940. Died:19 Dec 1979. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 18 Jan 1945. Serial number: 445079. To Lieutenant Commander: 1 Aug 1951;
to Commander: 1 Jul 1956. Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (26 Feb 1945 to 21 Apr
1945); Naval Hospital, Shoemaker, CA (Apr 1945 to Jun 1945); U.S.S. Bottineau (attack troop transport)
(Jun 1945 to Dec 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 21 Mar 1946. Recalled: Oct 1950. Assignments: Naval Training Station, Newport, RI (Oct 1950 to Apr 1953); Assistant Fleet Chaplain, Commander, Service
Force, Atlantic, Norfolk, VA (Apr 1953 to Feb 1955); National Naval Medical Center, Bethesda, MD (Feb
1955 to Aug 1955); Naval Hospital, Newport, RI (Aug 1955 to 1957). Relieved of active duty: 1957.
John P. Foley, S.J.
Born: 6 Jun 1904. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1923. Ordained: 21 Jun 1936. Died: 21 Oct 1995. Commissioned
as Lieutenant (j.g.) in the Navy: 22 Feb 1942. Serial number: 133964. To Lieutenant: 1 Mar 1943;
to Lieutenant Commander: 3 Oct 1945. Assignments: Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (20 Apr 1942 to 12
Jun 1942); U.S.S. George Clymer (attack transport) (25 Jun 1942 to 15 Mar 1944); National Naval Medical
Center, Bethesda, MD (30 May 1944 to 15 Jan 1945); U.S.S. Vella Gulf (escort carrier) (27 Jan 1945 to 10
Nov 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 14 Jan 1946. Resigned from the Naval Reserve: 6 Apr 1946.
15 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Frederick A. Gallagher, S.J.
Born: 5 Aug 1898. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1917. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Died: 25 May 1964. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 11 Mar 1942. Serial number: 136485. To Lieutenant Commander: 1 Mar 1944;
to Commander: 5 Nov 1945. Assignments: Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (20 Apr 1942 to 12 Jun 1942);
Marine Barracks, Parris Island, SC (15 Jun 1942 to 7 Oct 1942); U.S.S. Tryon (armed hospital evacuation
ship) (7 Oct 1942 to 11 Mar 1943); Fleet Marine Force, 1st Marine Amphibious Corps (11 Mar 1943 to
1 Aug 1944); Naval Hospital, St. Albans, NY (11 Sep 1944 to 2 May 1946). Reverted to inactive status:
16 Jul 1946. Resigned from the Naval Reserve: 20 Oct 1953.
James F. Geary, S.J.
Born: 21 May 1905. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1925. Ordained: 20 Jun 1937. Died: 8 Sep 1980. Appointed
to the Army: 13 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0549986. To the rank of Captain: 1 Oct 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (30 Apr 1944); Infantry Training Battalion, Camp Croft, Spartanburg, SC;
Indiantown Gap, PA; Camp Kilmer, NJ; replacement depots, England, Belgium, Germany and France;
115th Station Hospital at Plaistow Downs, England, Metz, France and Augsburg, Germany. Reverted to
inactive status: 27 Jan 1946.
Thomas P. Hennessey, S.J.
Born: 30 Nov 1908. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1926. Ordained: 17 Jun 1939. Died: 10 Apr 1978. Appointed
to the Army: 6 Aug 1943. Serial number: 0530788. To the rank of Captain: 16 Oct 1944; to Major:
1 Aug 1947; to Lieutenant Colonel: 13 May 1956. Assignments: 7 th Service Command, Fort Riley, KS (1943
to 1944); Chaplain School (3 Jan 1944); to France with 11th Regiment, 5th Infantry Division (13 Jun 1944);
Fort Campbell, KY (23 Jul 1945); Walter Reed Hospital, Washington, DC (1946 to 1947); Fort Ruger,
Hawaii (1947 to 1948). Separated from service in 1948. Recalled to Army 1951. Assignments: Fort McClellan, AL (1951 to 1953); Eielson Air Base, Fairbanks, AK (1953 to 1955); 505th Missile Battalion, Fort Tilden, NY
(1955 to 1958); Metz and Orleans, France (1958–1960). Relieved of active duty: 1968. Award: Bronze Star.
Harry L. Huss, S.J.
Born: 23 May 1903. Entered Jesuits: 8 Sep 1926. Ordained: 20 Jun 1937. Died: 25 Feb 1976. Appointed to
the Army: 28 Dec 1942. Serial number: 0509085. To the rank of Captain: Jul 1944; to Major: 19 Sep 1945.
Assignments: Harvard Chaplain School (3 Feb 1943); 52nd Coast Artillery, Fort Eustis, VA (3 Mar 1943),
and Fort Hancock, NJ (1 Apr 1943); 181st Infantry, Fort Devens, MA (Nov 1943). (continued)
16 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Harry L. Huss, S.J. (continued)
Assignments overseas: (1944 and 1945): Western Base Section, Chester, England; Channel Base Section,
Lille, France; Chanor Base Section, Brussels, Belgium. Reverted to inactive status: 5 Jun 1946. Award:
Bronze Star.
John J. Kelleher, S.J.
Born: 18 Sep 1908. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1928. Ordained: 22 Jun 1940. Died: 16 Dec 1964. Appointed to
the Army: 19 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0550493. To the rank of Captain: 21 Feb 1945; to Major: 12 Apr
1948; to Lieutenant Colonel: 10 May 1955. Assignments: Harvard Chaplain School (30 Apr 1944); Camp
Atterbury, IN and Crile General Hospital, Cleveland, OH (1944); Hawaii (1944 to 1945); Governors
Island, NY and Fort Dix, NJ (1946); Fort Monmouth, NJ and New Mexico (1947); Fort Sam Houston, TX
(1948); Okinawa (1949); Camp Gordon, GA (1950); U. S. Army, Europe (1951 to 1953); Camp Kilmer, NJ
(1954); Camp Dix, NJ (1955 to 1957); U. S. Forces, Caribbean (1957 to 1958); Nike Base, Coventry, RI (1958);
Headquarters, 11th Artillery Group, Rehoboth, MA (1959 to 1960); Headquarters, 11th Engineer Group,
Schwetzingen, Germany (Apr 1960 to 1964). Relieved of active duty with the rank of Major: 1964.
William J. Kenealy, S.J.
Born: 30 Jul 1904. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1922. Ordained: 20 Jun 1934. Died: 2 Mar 1974. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 2 Jan 1943. Serial number: 246575. To Lieutenant Commander: 3 Oct 1945.
Assignments: Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (22 Feb 1943 to 25 Apr 1943); Pre-Flight School, St. Mary’s
College, CA (12 May 1943 to 15 Sep 1943); U.S.S. California (battleship) (26 Sep 1943 until relieved from
duty) during which time he saw service in the invasions of Guam, Saipan, Tinian, Palau Islands, Leyte
Gulf, Lingayan Gulf, and Okinawa; participated in the sea battle of Surigao Strait. Reverted to inactive
status: 6 Feb 1946. Retired from the Naval Reserve: 1 Nov 1953.
Walter E. Kennedy, S.J.
Born: 20 Nov 1910. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1928. Ordained: 22 Jun 1940. Died: 5 Dec. 1966. Appointed to
the Army: 27 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0551228. To the rank of Captain: Feb 1945. Assignments: Harvard
Chaplain School (1 May 1944); Fort Leonard Wood, MO, as Chaplain for Engineers; Camp Barkeley, TX;
189th General Hospital, Lison, France; 189th General Hospital and 333rd Engineers, Mourmelon-le-Grand,
France; Assistant Chaplain, Base Section, Rheims, France; Base Section Chaplain, Bad Nauheim
Germany, Continental Base. Reverted to inactive status with the rank of Major: 4 May 1946.
17 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
George A. King, S.J.
Born: 23 Oct 1907. Entered Jesuits: 15 Aug 1925. Ordained: 20 Jun 1937. Died: 6 Jan 1965. Appointed
to the Army: 26 Aug 1942. Serial number: 0492181. To the rank of Captain: 1 Feb 1944; to Major:
6 Apr 1945. Assignments: 48th Evacuation Hospital, Tennessee Maneuvers (Aug to Oct 1942); Chaplain
School, Fort Devens, MA (30 Nov 1942); Ledo Road, Assam through Burma (March 1943); Base Chaplain,
Chabua, India, serving also units of Air Service Command and 10th Air Force (Nov 1943 to Nov 1944);
Headquarters, ADMAC, American New Delhi Command (Nov 1944 to Sep 1945). Reverted to inactive
status: 4 Feb 1946.
William J. Leonard, S.J.
Born: 10 Apr 1908. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1925. Ordained: 20 Jun 1937. Died: 11 Feb 2000. Appointed to
the Army: 24 Jan 1944. Serial number: 0544318. To the rank of Captain: 26 Jun 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (10 Feb 1944); 86th Infantry Division, Camp Livingston, Alexandria, LA;
9th Ordnance Battalion, Finschhafen, New Guinea and Mangaldan, Luzon; Headquarters Base X, Manila.
Reverted to inactive status: 28 Jul 1946.JJLS
john j. long, s.j.
Born: 20 Feb 1904. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1920. Ordained: 22 Jun 1933. Died: 17 Jul 1964. Appointed
to the Army: 31 Jul 1942. Serial number: 0487098. To the rank of Captain: 19 Mar 1943; to Major: 25 Oct
1943; to Lieutenant Colonel: 19 Jul 1946. Assignments: Mitchell Field, Long Island (1942 to 1944);
5th Air Force, Southwest Pacific, Philippines and Japan (1944 to 1946). Reverted to inactive status:
27 Oct 1946. Recalled to the Army: 22 Jul 1947. Assignments: 28th Bombardment Wing, Rapid City, SD
(1947 to 1948); Antilles Air Division, Puerto Rico (1948 to 1949); Caribbean Air Command, Panama,
Canal Zone (1949 to 1951); Lackland Air Force Base, TX (1951 to 1953); Headquarters, 5th Air Division,
French Morocco (1953 to 1954); Loring Air Force Base, ME (1954 to 1956). In Aug 1949 Father Long was
transferred to the Air Force; Serial number: A0487098. Reverted to inactive status: 1 May 1956.
Daniel J. Lynch, S.J.
Born: 1 Jan 1879. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1900. Ordained: 28 Jun 1916. Died: 13 Nov 1952.
Commissioned as First Lieutenant in the Army: 16 Apr 1918. Stationed at Blois and Tours with the
310th Infantry, 78th Division. Brigaded with the British near Arras. In action at the St. Mihiel
Offensive at Thiaucourt, and Liney Sector at St. Juvin in Meuse-Argonne Offensive. Cited by
General Pershing in a letter dated 11 Nov 1919 for conspicuous and meritorious (continued)
18 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
daniel j. lynch, s.j. (continued)
service at Bois des Loges. Discharged 29 May 1919 at Camp Lee, VA. To the rank of Captain:
31 Dec 1924; to Major: (National Guard) 20 Jul 1935; to Lieutenant Colonel: (National Guard) 15 May
1936. Recalled to the Army: 16 Jan 1941. Serial number: 0208785. Assignment: Assistant Chaplain
26th Division at Camp Edwards, MA and Fort Devens, MA (16 Jan 1941 to 19 Feb 1942). Honorably
discharged for physical disability resulting from a heart attack: 7 May 1942. Appointed Brigadier General,
Massachusetts Organized Militia: 16 Dec 1946. Award: Purple Heart.
John F. Lyons, S.J.
Born: 22 Oct 1904. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1926. Ordained: 17 Jun 1939. Died: 17 Jul 1964. Appointed
to the Army: 24 Jan 1944. Serial number: 0544278. To the rank of Captain: 16 Aug 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (11 Feb 1944); Mason General Hospital, Brentwood, Long Island (1944);
34th General Hospital, Atlantic City, NJ, and France (1944); 48th General Hospital, France (1944);
305th Bombardment Group, France (1945); 305th and 306th Bombardment Group, France (1946);
414th Air Service Group, France (1946). Reverted to inactive status: 17 Feb 1947.
Francis J. MacDonald, S.J.
Born: 29 Mar 1897. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1917. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Died: 14 Dec 1979. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 11 Sep 1942. Serial number: 207850. To Lieutenant Commander: 3 Oct 1945.
Assignments: Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (5 Oct 1942 to 29 Nov 1942); Mobile Hospital #7 (12 Mar 1943
to 22 May 1944); Naval Training Center, Bainbridge (13 Jul 1944 to 2 Mar 1945); U.S.S. Tutuila (15 Apr
1945 to Oct 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 13 Mar 1946. Released from Naval Reserve: 15 Oct 1954.
Harry C. MacLeod, S.J.
Born: 23 Aug 1900. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1917. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Commissioned as Lieutenant
in the Navy: 21 Aug 1942. Serial number: 200219. To Lieutenant Commander: 3 Oct 1945. Assignments:
Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (21 Sep 1942 to 13 Nov 1942); Amphibious Training Base, Solomons, MD
(23 Nov 1942 to 3 Aug 1943); Commander Naval Base, FOLD (6 Oct 1943 to 20 Mar 1944); Landing Craft
Repair Base #2 (8 Apr 1944 to Jan 1945); Naval Hospital, Fort Eustis, VA (22 Apr 1945 until relieved of
active duty). Reverted to inactive status: 1 Dec 1946.
19 | men for others
DJLS
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Leo P. McCauley, S.J.
Born: 8 May 1904. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1922. Ordained: 20 Jun 1934. Died: 31 Dec 1993. Commissioned as Lieutenant in the Navy: 31 Aug 1943. Serial number: 317540. To Lieutenant Commander:
3 Oct 1945. Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (11 Oct 1943 to 5 Dec 1943); Naval
Construction Training Center, Camp Peary, Williamsburg, VA (11 Dec 1943 to 11 Apr 1944); USN
Advanced Base, Dartmouth, Devon, England (May 1944 to August 1944); Naval Advanced Base, Fowey,
Cornwall, England (Aug 1944 to Oct 1944); Port Chaplain, Le Havre, France (Oct 1944 to Jul 1945);
Port Hueneme, CA (12 Aug 1945 to Mar 1946). Reverted to inactive status: 12 Mar 1946.
James D. McLaughlin, S.J.
Born: 11 Nov 1901. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1917. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Died: 24 Dec 1977. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 6 Nov 1943. Serial number: 335812. To Lieutenant Commander: 1 Jan 1946.
Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (3 Jan 1944 to 27 Feb 1944); Naval Hospital, San Diego
(12 Mar 1944 to 7 Jul 1944); 2nd Naval Construction Brigade (13 Jul 1944 to 2 Dec 1944); 121st Naval
Construction Base (2 Dec 1944 until relieved of active duty). Reverted to inactive status: 31 July 1946.
Released from the Naval Reserve: 15 Oct 1954.
Carl H. Morgan, S.J.
Born: 24 Mar 1908. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1926. Ordained: 19 Jun 1938. Appointed to the Army: 1 Feb
1945. Serial number: 0930671. To the rank of Captain: 27 Sep 1950. Assignments: Chaplain School, Fort
Devens, MA ((Feb 1945); Fort Wadsworth, South Island (Aug 1946 to May 1947); 11th Airborne, Sapporo,
Japan (May 1947 to Jan 1948); Osaka Army Hospital (Jan 1948 to Nov 1949); 82nd Airborne, Fayetteville
(Nov 1949 to Jul 1950); 8069 Replacement Depot, Sasebo (Jul 1950 to Dec 1950); Headquarters, Kobe
Base (Dec 1950 to Oct 1951); 279th General Hospital, Sakai (Oct 1951 to Dec 1952); 8022 A.U., Kumamoto
(Dec 1952); Fort Lee, VA (1953 to 1954). Reverted to inactive status: 30 Nov 1954.
Francis J. Murphy, S.J.
Born: 15 Jul 1905. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1924. Ordained: 21 Jun 1936. Died: 31 May 1995. Appointed to
the Army: 27 Mar 1945. Serial number: 0931658. To the rank of Captain: 24 Dec 1945. Assignments: Fort
Devens Chaplain School (11 May 1945); 33rd Infantry Division, Philippines (1945); 123rd Infantry Regiment,
Kobe, Japan (1945); Japan (1946); 38th Regimental Combat Team, Camp Carson, CO (1947). Relieved of
active duty: 16 July 1947. Recalled for a short time and again relieved: 4 May 1948.
20 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
George M. Murphy, S.J.
Born: 13 Oct 1899. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1917. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Died: 11 Jun 1971. Commissioned
First Lieutenant in the Army Reserve: 26 Aug 1938. Resigned: 28 Aug 1940. Commissioned First
Lieutenant in Massachusetts National Guard: 13 Aug 1940. Ordered into active service: 16 Sep 1940.
Serial number: 0371536. To the rank of Captain: 28 May 1942; to Major: 31 Jul 1945. Assignments:
241st Coast Artillery, Fort Andrews, MA (26 Sep 1940 to 9 Mar 1942); 50th Coast Artillery, Camp Pendleton, VA (4 Mar 1942 to 3 Apr 1942); Headquarters, Headquarters Battery and 3rd Battalion, 50th Coast
Artillery, and 20th Coast Artillery, Galveston (3 Apr 1942 to 4 Jun 1942); 50th Coast Artillery, Camp
Pendleton, VA (4 Jun 1942 to 5 Aug 1942); Harvard Chaplain School (5 Aug 1942 to 17 Sep 1942); Camp
Pendleton, VA (17 Sep 1942 to 10 Dec 1942); Chaplain, Harbor Defenses, Key West, FL (10 Dec 1942 to 13
May 1943); 50th Coast Artillery Regiment, Montauk Point, NY (13 May 1943 to 20 Sep 1943); Fort McKinley, Casco Bay, ME (20 Sep 1943 to 14 Dec 1943); Camp Hero, Montauk Point, NY (14 Dec 1943 to 14 Jan
1944); Headquarters, 16th Cavalry, Framingham, MA (17 Jan 1944 to 18 May 1944); 2nd Coast Artillery,
Fort Story, VA (18 May 1944 to 15 Jun 1944); Harbor Defenses, Chesapeake Bay (15 Jun 1944 to 25 Sep
1944); Woodrow Wilson General Hospital, Staunton, VA (25 Sep 1944 to 29 Dec 1944); Valley Forge
General Hospital, Phoenixville, PA (29 Dec 1944 to 31 Jan 1946). Reverted to inactive status: 18 Jun 1946.
Award: Army Commendation Ribbon.
Paul J. Murphy, S.J.
Born: 18 Nov 1908. Entered Jesuits: 7 Sep 1926. Ordained: 19 Jun 1938. Died: 27 Aug 1990. Originally
appointed as chaplain in the U. S. Maritime Service: Feb 1943. Served at Officers’ School, Alameda, CA,
until May 1944. Commissioned as Lieutenant (j.g.) in the Navy: 7 Jun 1944. Serial number: 394865.
To Lieutenant: 1 Feb 1946. Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (3 Jul 1944 to 27 Aug 1944);
Naval Hospital, Great Lakes, IL (8 Sep 1944 to 12 Mar 1945); Bogue Field, NC (18 Mar 1945 to 22 Aug 1945);
U.S.S. General Meigs (transport) (22 Aug 1945 to Mar 1946); Naval Hospital, Newport, RI (16 Mar 1946
until relieved). Reverted to inactive status: 14 Jul 1946. Resigned from the Naval Reserve: 13 Oct 1953.
Vincent de P. O’Brien, S.J.
Born: 23 Aug 1907. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1925. Ordained: 20 Jun 1937. Died: 5 Jul 1987. Served with
the United States Maritime Service: Feb 1945 to Dec 1945.
21 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Joseph T. O’Callahan, S.J.
Born; 14 May 1905. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1922. Ordained: 20 Jun 1934. Died: 18 Mar 1964.
Commissioned at Lieutenant (j.g.) in the Navy: 7 Aug 1940. Serial number: 87280. To Lieutenant:
2 Jan 1942; to Lieutenant Commander: 1 Jul 1943; to Commander: 20 Jul 1945. Assignments: Naval
Air Station, Pensacola (23 Nov 1940 to 20 Apr 1942); U.S.S. Ranger (carrier) (31 May 1942 to
May 1944) during which time the carrier served in North Atlantic waters and in the invasion
of North Africa; Naval Air Station, Alameda (May 1944 to Dec 1944); Naval Air Station, Hawaii
(23 Dec 1944 to 2 Mar 1945); U.S.S. Franklin (2 Mar 1945 to 8 Apr 1946) during which time the
carrier was hit by enemy bombs in waters off the coast of Japan, 19 Mar 1945; Bureau of Personnel (April 1945 until relieved of active duty). Acted as official escort chaplain for the body of
Manuel Quezon (first president of the Philippine Islands) from Washington, DC to Manila, P.I.
Reverted to inactive status: 12 Nov 1946. Retired from the Naval Reserve: 1 Nov 1953.
Awards: Medal of Honor; Purple Heart.
Daniel F. X. O’Connor, S.J.
Born: 12 Oct 1900. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1918. Ordained: 16 Jun 1931. Died: 12 Sep 1958. Commissioned as Lieutenant in the Navy: 18 May 1942. Serial number: 169209. To Lieutenant Commander:
17 Oct 1944. Assignments: Chaplain School, Norfolk, VA (6 Jul 1942 to 28 Aug 1942); Naval
Hospital, Corona, CA (10 Sep 1942 to 10 Sep 1943); 14th Naval District, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii
(18 Sep 1943 to 10 Jan 1944); Naval Operating Base, Midway Island (10 Jan 1944 to 10 Oct 1944);
Iroquois Point, Oahu, Hawaii (13 Oct 1944 to 2 Jun 1945); Navy Base, Port Hueneme, CA
(6 Jul 1945 to 18 Sep 1945); Naval Training Center, San Diego (23 Sep 1945 to Apr 1946).
Reverted to inactive status: 26 May 1946. Resigned from Naval Reserve: 18 Feb 1957.
Leo P. O’Keefe, S.J.
Born: 10 Apr 1908. Entered Jesuits: 15 Aug 1929. Ordained: 17 Jun 1939. Died: 16 Nov 1991. Appointed
to the Army: 29 Jan 1944. Serial number: 0544766. To the rank of Captain: 25 Jan 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (14 Mar 1944); Randolph Field, TX (1944 to 1946). Reverted to inactive status:
22 Apr 1946.
22 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Charles J. Reardon, S.J.
Born: 2 May 1907. Entered Jesuits: 7 Sep 1927. Ordained: 17 Jun 1939. Died: 28 Jun 1991. Appointed
to the Army: 29 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0551384. To the rank of Captain: 1 May 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (8 Jun 1944); Camp Gordon, Augusta, GA (15 Jul 1944); Fort Jackson, SC
(20 Sep 1944); England, France, Holland and Germany (Oct 1944 to May 1945); 15th General Hospital,
Belgium (28 Jul 1945). Served in the United States and overseas with 1147 th Engineer Combat Group.
Reverted to inactive status: 22 Sep 1946.
Charles M. Roddy, S.J.
Born: 26 Sep 1888. Entered Jesuits: 7 May 1910. Ordained: 26 Jun 1923. Died: 11 May 1967. Appointed
to the Army: 2 Aug 1943. Serial number: 0530276. To the rank of Captain: 28 Jul 1944. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (1 Oct 1943); Fort George Meade, MD (1943); Carlisle Barracks, PA and Camp
Lee, VA (1944); hospital ship chaplain (1945). Reverted to inactive status: 18 Mar 1946.
Richard L. Rooney, S.J.
Born: 21 Oct 1903. Entered Jesuits: 15 Aug 1923. Ordained: 23 Jun 1935. Died: 2 Feb 1977. Appointed
to the Army: 13 Apr 1944. Serial number: 0549988. To the rank of Captain: 21 Apr 1945. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (30 Apr 1944); Army Air Force Base, Biggs Field, El Paso, TX. Reverted to
inactive status: 28 Feb 1946.
Daniel F. Ryan, S.J.
Born: 30 Jul 1888. Entered Jesuits: 13 Aug 1905. Ordained: 29 Jun 1920. Died: 8 Jan 1970. Appointed
to the Army: 29 May 1943. Serial number: 0523595. To the rank of Captain: 28 Jul 1944. Assignments:
Harvard Chaplain School (4 Nov 1943); Woodrow Wilson General Hospital, Staunton, VA; Indiantown
Gap Military Reservation, PA. Reverted to inactive status: 20 May 1946.
John D. St. John, S.J.
Born: 9 Feb 1908. Entered Jesuits: 30 Jul 1925. Ordained: 20 Jun 1937. Died: 9 Sep 1992. Appointed to
the Army: 6 Apr 1942. Serial number: 0447906. To the rank of Captain: 7 Dec 1942; to Major: 17 Aug
1944; to Lieutenant Colonel: 7 Jun 1946. Assignments: 324th Air Force Service Group, Orlando, FL
(22 Apr 1942 to 21 Aug 1942); 324th Air Force Service Group, Lakeland, FL (22 Aug 1942 to 26 Dec 1942);
324th Air Force Service Group, Algeria, Tunisia (Jan 1943 to Dec 1943); (continued)
23 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
John D. St. John, S.J. (continued)
324th Air Service Group, Foggia, Italy (Dec 1943 to May 1944); 304th Bombardment Wing, Cerignola, Italy
(May 1944 to Sep 1944); Headquarters, 15th Air Force, Bari, Italy (Sep 1944 to May 1945); 304th Bombardment Wing, Cerignola, Italy (May 1945 to Sep 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 7 Feb 1946. Appointed to
the Air Force: Jan 1949. Serial number: A0447906. To the rank of Colonel: 17 Dec 1956. Assignments:
Office of the Air Force Chief of Chaplains to organize and conduct missions for Air Force personnel
(5 Jan 1949 to 1 Jun 1957); Staff Chaplain, 9th Air Force, Tactical Air Command (25 Jun 1957 to 31 Dec
1959); Headquarters, 30th Air Division, Truax Field, Madison, WI (1 Jan 1960 to 1965). Awards: Bronze
Star, Air Force Commendation Medal; Air Force Commendation Ribbon.
Joseph P. Shanahan, S.J.
Born: 7 Mar 1908. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1925. Ordained: 19 Jun 1938. Commissioned as Lieutenant
(j.g.) in the Navy: 20 Jan 1944. Serial number: 349588. To Lieutenant: 1 Jul 1945. Assignments: Chaplain
School, Williamsburg, VA (28 Feb 1944 to 23 Apr 1944); Naval Air Station, San Diego (9 May 1944 to Jul
1945); 3rd Marine Air Wing (19 Jul 1945 to 22 Sep 1945); Naval Air Station #28 (22 Sep 1945 until relieved
of active duty.) Reverted to inactive status: 19 Apr 1946. Released from Naval Reserve: 15 Oct 1954.
Thomas A. Shanahan, S.J.
Born: 23 Jun 1895. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1916. Ordained: 22 Jun 1929. Died: 25 Jun 1963. Appointed
to the Army with the rank of Captain: 2 May 1942. Serial number: 0888031. To the rank of Major:
5 Jul 1943; to Lieutenant Colonel: 15 Jan 1946. Assignments: 35th A.B. Group, Charters Towers, North
Queensland, Australia (2 Mar 1942 to 2 Jun 1942); Headquarters, USA SOS SWPA, Deputy Chaplain,
Sydney and Brisbane, Australia (5 Jun 1942 to 18 Sep 1944); Headquarters, Base K, Tacloban, Leyte,
Philippines (19 Sep 1944 to 31 Dec 1944); Headquarters, Base M, San Fabian, Luzon (1 Jan 1945 to 8 Mar
1945); Letterman General and Lovell General Hospitals (30 May 1945 to 20 Sep 1945); Redistribution
Center, Fort Oglethorpe, GA (Sep 1945 to Nov 1945); Fort George Meade Separation Center, MD (Nov
1945 to Jan 1946); relief work in Philippines (Feb 1946 to Mar 1946). Reverted to inactive status: 8 May
1946. Prior to his appointment to the Army, Father Shanahan had been appointed as Red Cross Chaplain,
Manila (9 Dec 1941); and was Chaplain on the S.S. Mactan which evacuated wounded personnel from
Manila to Sydney, Australia (1 Jan 1942 to 28 Jan 1942). Award: Bronze Star.
Richard G. Shea, S.J.
Born: 28 Sep 1902. Entered Jesuits: 14 Aug 1922. Ordained: 20 Jun 1934. Died: 25 Mar 1984. Appointed
to the Army: 15 Dec 1942. Serial number: 0507901. To the rank of Captain: 20 Nov 1943 (continued)
24 | men for others
�chapter 2 | to love and serve
Richard G. Shea, S.J. (continued)
Assignments: Harvard Chaplain School (3 Jan1943); Camp Patrick Henry, Hampton Roads Port of
Embarkation, VA (1943 to Aug 1944); Infantry Replacement Center, Camp Blanding, FL (Aug 1944
to Oct 1944); with 9th Air Force in France, Belgium, Germany (Oct 1944 to Sep 1945); Shaw Air
Force Base, Sumter, SC (Oct 1945 to Dec 1945). Reverted to inactive status: 19 Feb 1946. Appointed
to the Air Force Reserve: 1 Jul 1949. Serial number: A0507901. Called to active duty: Jun 1951. Assignments: Castle Air Force Base, CA (Jun 1951 to Mar 1952); 3918th Air Base Group, RAF Station, Upper Heyford, Oxfordshire, England (Mar 1952 to Apr 1955); Lackland Air force Base, TX (May 1955 to
Jun 1956). Relieved of active duty with the rank of Major: Jun 1956.
Robert E. Sheridan, S.J.
Born: 7 Jun 1897. Entered Jesuits: 15 Aug 1915. Ordained: 20 Jun 1928. Died: 25 Dec 1978. Appointed to
the Army: 11 Mar 1942. Serial number: 0442204. To the rank of Captain: 5 Oct 1942; to Major: 9 Dec
1946. Assignments: Port of Embarkation, Charleston, SC (23 Mar 1942); from Feb 1944 to Feb 1946,
thirteen months of hospital ship duty aboard Acadia (in Atlantic) and Chateau-Thierry (in Pacific), logging
95,000 miles at sea. Reverted to inactive status: 21 May 1946. Award: Army Commendation Ribbon.
Harold V. Stockman, S.J.
Born: 3 Jun 1898. Entered Jesuits: 16 Sep 1917. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Died: 10 Aug 1962. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 24 Aug 1943. Serial number: 316882. To Lieutenant Commander: 1 Nov 1945.
Assignments: Chaplain School, Williamsburg, VA (11 Oct 1943 to 5 Dec 1943); Navy Yard, Norfolk
(15 Dec 1943 to 21 Jun 1944); with naval units in Mediterranean Theater of Operations (24 Jun 1944 to
25 Jul 1945); Chaplain, Portsmouth Naval Prison (Sep 1945 to Jul 1947); Naval Air Station, Green Cove
Springs, FL (Aug 1947 until relieved of active duty). Reverted to inactive status and retired from Naval
Reserve: 1 Jun 1948.
Francis V. Sullivan, S.J.
Born: 10 Apr 1898. Entered Jesuits: 23 Jan 1919. Ordained: 18 Jun 1930. Died: 11 Jan 1972. Commissioned
as Lieutenant in the Navy: 13 Mar 1942. Serial number: 139079. To Lieutenant Commander: 13 Dec 1943;
to Commander: 5 Nov 1945. Assignments: Chaplain School, Fort Schuyler, NY (1 May 1942 to 12 Jun
1942); Naval Operating Base and Chaplains’ Training School, Norfolk, VA (20 Jun 1942 to 31 Jul 1942);
3rd Marines, Samoa (1 Aug 1942 to 3 Mar 1943); Dean Chaplains School, William and Mary College, VA
(28 May 1943 to 13 Aug 1944); Senior Chaplain, European Theater, London (3 Sep 1944 until relieved of
active duty). Reverted to inactive status: 14 Mar 1946. Retired from Naval Reserve: Jan 1956.
25 | men for others
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
The Medals and the Men
citations and awards
the list of citations and awards was compiled from questionnaires and the records of
the offices of chief chaplains or the various services. The Navy and Air Force records are
reasonably complete; the Army list for Jesuits is about 80% complete. Awards that have not
been verified have not been included.
I
n the following list, the citation or general
orders conferring the decoration is cited
or, if unavailable, a précis of the citation.
If neither is available, only the title of the
decoration is listed.
world war ii citations and awards: military
barry, john l.
bronze star, purple heart
boylan, bernard r.
navy and marine corps medal
brock, laurence m.
legion of merit
dolan, james j.
bronze star
dugan, john j.
bronze star,
army commendation ribbon
hennessey, thomas p.
bronze star
huss, harry l.
bronze star
lynch, daniel j.
purple heart
murphy, george m.
army commendation medal
26 | the medals and the men
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
world war ii citations and awards: military (continued)
o’callahan, joseph t.
medal of honor, purple heart
st. john, john d.
bronze star
air force commendation medal
air force commendation ribbon
shanahan, thomas a.
bronze star
sheridan, robert e.
army commendation medal
world war ii citations and awards: papal
fay, thomas p.
benemerenti –
awarded by pope pius xii
NOTE: The Commendation Medal was originally a ribbon and was first issued by the Navy and the Coast
Guard in 1943. But by 1960, the Commendation Ribbons had been authorized as full medals and were
thereafter referred to as Commendation Medals.
This information is compiled from “Jesuits as Chaplains in the Armed Forces” by Gerard F. Giblin, S.J.,
Woodstock Letters, 89, 361-491.
27 | the medals and the men
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
medal of honor
the medal of honor is awarded by the president in the name of congress to a person
who, while a member of the united states armed forces, distinguishes himself or
herself conspicuously by gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life or her life
above and beyond the call of duty while engaged in an action against an enemy of the
United States; while engaged in military operations involving conflict with an opposing foreign
force; or while serving with friendly foreign forces engaged in an armed conflict against an
opposing armed force in which the United States is not a belligerent party.
T
he deed performed must have been one of
personal bravery or self-sacrifice so conspicuous as to clearly distinguish the individual
above his or her comrades and must have involved
risk of life. Incontestable proof of the performance
of the service will be exacted and each recommendation for the award of this decoration will be considered on the standard of extraordinary merit.
joseph t. o’callahan, s.j.
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the
risk of life above and beyond the call of duty while
serving as chaplain on board the U.S.S. Franklin
when that vessel was attacked by enemy Japanese
aircraft during offensive operations near Kobe,
Japan, on 19 March 1945. A valiant and forceful leader, calmly braving the perilous barriers of
flames and twisted metal to aid his men and his
ship, Lieutenant Commander O’Callahan groped
his way through smoke-filled corridors to the
flight deck and into the midst of violently explod-
28 | the medals and the men
ing bombs, shells, rockets and other armament.
With the ship rocked by incessant explosions, with
debris and fragments raining down and fires raging
in increasing fury, comforting and encouraging
men of all faiths, he organized and led fire-fighting
crews into the blazing inferno on the flight deck;
he directed the jettisoning of live ammunition and
the flooding of the magazine; he manned a hose to
cool hot, armed bombs rolling dangerously on the
listing deck, continuing his efforts despite searing,
suffocating smoke which forced men to fall back
gasping and imperiled others who replaced them.
Serving with courage, fortitude and deep spiritual
strength, Lieutenant Commander O’Callahan inspired the gallant officers and men of the Franklin
to fight heroically and with profound faith in the
face of almost certain death and return their
stricken ship to port.
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
purple heart
the purple heart is awarded in the name of the president of the united states to any
member of the armed forces of the united states who, while serving under competent
authority in any capacity with one of the U.S. Armed Services after April 5, 1917, has been
wounded or killed, or who has died after being wounded.
D
uring the early period of American
involvement in World War II (December
7, 1941 – September 22, 1943), the Purple
Heart was awarded both for wounds received in
action against the enemy and for meritorious
john l. barry, s.j.
(Received the Purple Heart for wounds
sustained in action 17 October 1952 near
Kumhwa, North Korea, while on service with the
th
48 Artillery.)
daniel j. lynch, s.j.
His work comforting the dying and burying the
dead in front of the Bois des Loges in October 1918
involved much night work, exhausting mentally and
physically, under fire of all kinds.
29 | the medals and the men
performance of duty. With the establishment of the
Legion of Merit, by an Act of Congress, the practice
of awarding the Purple Heart for meritorious
service was discontinued.
Chaplain Lynch on more than one occasion
appeared at dawn at Brigade Headquarters almost
in a state of collapse from an all night of arduous,
dangerous and nerve-wracking hours. He thought
not of himself, only of others, his duty to his
country and his God.
joseph t. o’callahan, s.j.
(Wounded by an explosion aboard
U.S.S. Franklin 19 March 1945.)
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
legion of merit
the legion of merit, established by act of congress 20 july 1942, is awarded to any
member of the armed forces of the united states or a friendly foreign nation who
has distinguished himself or herself by exceptionally meritorious conduct in the
performance of outstanding services and achievements. The performance must have
been such as to merit recognition of key individuals for service rendered in a clearly
exceptional manner.
laurence m. brock, s.j.
Laurence M. Brock, 0403400, Captain,
Chaplain Corps, United States Army, for exceptionally meritorious conduct in the performance
of outstanding services in the South Pacific Area,
during the period of February 1942 to Septem-
ber 1943. As Chaplain of a regiment bivouacked
in an area of over fifty miles at an advanced base,
Captain Brock travelled to his men under the most
adverse conditions to carry out his own duties and
those of Special Service Officer prior to the time
that the Table of Organization provided an officer
for that duty. This presented Captain Brock with
the problem of extending his normal work to
30 | the medals and the men
include such arrangements as the operation and
upkeep of motion picture apparatus, and the
organization and direction of amateur theatricals.
The cumulative effect of his good work was clearly
evidenced by the high morale of the regiment
upon its entry into active combat. In his unceasing
efforts to carry the word of God to troops fighting in
perilous forward areas Captain Brock disdained all
hazards and expended his every effort. The altruistic, courageous quality of his superlative work
was best illustrated at Christmas time, 1942, when
he traversed from foxhole to foxhole under hostile
sniper fire to receive confessions and thus administer religious solace to men.
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
bronze star medal
the bronze star medal, established by executive order 9419, 4 february 1944, is awarded
to any person who, while serving in any capacity in or with the army of the united
states after 6 december 1941, distinguished himself or herself by heroic or meritorious
achievement or service, not involving participation in aerial flight, in connection with military
operations against an armed enemy; or while engaged in military operations involving conflict
with an opposing armed force in which the United States is not a belligerent party.
John L. Barry, S.J.
Chaplain (First Lieutenant) John L. Barry,
0931664, Chaplains, United States Army, a memth
ber of Headquarters, 7 Infantry Division Artillery,
distinguished himself by meritorious achievement
on 20 October 1952. While an intense attack was
being launched against the enemy, Chaplain Barry,
against the protests of the commanding officer,
moved into the thick of the battle, administering aid, both spiritual and medical, to the friendly
casualties and encouraging the fighting men. The
integrity, the sincere devotion to God and country,
and the deep personal regard for the welfare of the
men with whom he served, made Chaplain Barry
an inspiring figure and an ennobling influence on
all with whom he came in contact. The meritorious
achievement of Chaplain Barry reflects great credit
on himself and the military service.
James J. Dolan, S.J.
James J. Dolan (Captain), 0402252, Chaplains
Corps, has been awarded the Bronze Star Medal for
meritorious service and exceptional service in connection with military operations against the enemy
31 | the medals and the men
on Saipan, Marianas Islands, during the period 21
July 1944 and 2 September 1945.
John J. Dugan, S.J.
(Awarded Bronze Star by General Order 113,
Headquarters, War Department 4 December 1945.)
Thomas P. Hennessey, S.J.
Chaplain Thomas P. Hennessey, (Captain)
0530788, Corps of Chaplains, has been awarded
the Bronze Star Medal for distinctive heroism in
connection with military operations against the
enemy during the period 22 to 23 March 1945 near
Geinsheim, Germany. When assault troops crossed
the Rhine River, Chaplain Hennessey volunteered
to accompany the attached collective company.
An hour and a half enemy artillery barrage was
launched into the area occupied by the collective
station, and Chaplain Hennessey exposed himself
constantly to supervise the removal of wounded men.
His outstanding devotion to his self-appointed mission was a great inspiration to the wounded and
the men working with him and reflects great credit
upon himself and the military service.
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
bronze star medal (continued)
Harry L. Huss, S.J.
Major (Chaplain) Harry L. Huss (then
Captain), (Army Serial No. 0509085), Army
of the United States, for meritorious service in
connection with military operations, as District
Chaplain, Western District, United Kingdom Base;
Deputy Chaplain, Channel Base Section; Deputy
Chaplain, Chanor Base Section, Communications
Zone, European Theater of Operations, from 16
September 1944 to 8 May 1945. Despite the ever increasing difficulties with regard to the readjustment
of Chaplains, Chaplain Huss executed quick and
sure judgment in the redeployment program. His
zeal and energy in covering small and isolated units
who were without a Chaplain and his meticulous
attention, guaranteeing burial services of American
personnel, gained the respect and high regard of all
with whom he came in contact. His understanding
of human nature enabled him to solve many delicate problems requiring a knowledge of the civilian
statutes, army regulations and individual’s emotions. The outstanding services rendered by Chaplain Huss reflect great credit upon himself and the
Armed Forces of the United States. Entered military
service from Massachusetts.
John D. St. John, S.J.
Lieutenant Colonel John D. St. John performed
meritorious service from April 1944 to May 1945 as
Chaplain, 304th Bomb Wing, and later as Assistant
Chaplain, 15th Air Force. He exhibited a high degree
of initiative, tact and forethought to insure spiritual
and moral facilities for the entire personnel under
his ministration. He displayed exceptional executive ability and resourcefulness in reorganizing and
32 | the medals and the men
putting into effect an entirely new Chaplain’s policy
th
for the 15 Air Force, whereby all members of his
faith received guidance and consolence despite a
shortage of Chaplains.
Thomas A. Shanahan, S.J.
Chaplain (Major) Thomas A. Shanahan
(0888031), Chaplain Corps, United States Army.
For meritorious achievement in Luzon, Philippine
Islands, from 13 January 1945 to 15 March 1945,
in connection with military operations against the
enemy. Because of his former residence in the
Philippines and his intimate knowledge of their
people, Chaplain Shanahan voluntarily accompanied
the advance echelon of a major base headquarters to
Luzon. Immediately on arrival he organized relief
and rehabilitation measures for the local populace
and ministered to battle casualties in forward-area
hospitals with complete disregard for his own
safety. Among the first Americans to enter Manila,
he immediately began obtaining food, shelter, and
medical care for upward of 10,000 sick, injured,
and homeless refugees, and for 70 nuns suffering
from illness and malnutrition. While the enemy was
shelling the University of Santo Tomas, he stood by
continually to administer clerical rites to the wounded and dying and devoted himself unstintingly to
the aid of civilian internees. His efforts materially
assisted in the organization of Santo Tomas for conversion into a major hospital unit. By his intrepid
courage, inspiring spiritual guidance, and substantial material aid to a needy and suffering people,
Chaplain Shanahan upheld the highest standards of
humanity and the priesthood and rendered substantial aid in the proper care of the sick and wounded.
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
navy and marine corps medal
The Navy and Marine Corps Medal, established by an Act of Congress on August 7, 1942,
may be awarded to service members who, while serving in any capacity with the Navy or
Marine Corps, distinguish themselves by heroism not involving actual conflict with an enemy.
For acts of lifesaving, or attempted lifesaving, it is required that the action be performed at the
risk of one’s own life.
Bernard R. Boylan, S.J.
For heroic conduct during rescue operations in
Finschhafen Harbor on August 23, 1944. With the
gasoline laden S.S. John C. Calhoun enveloped in
flames following an explosion in the hold, Lieutenant Boylan leaped from an adjoining vessel to
go to the aid of several casualties on the stricken
33 | the medals and the men
ship. Aware of the imminent danger of additional
explosions, he assisted in removing men to safety;
searched the debris for other wounded; and refused
to leave the scene until all casualties had been cared
for. His initiative and courage throughout reflect
the highest credit upon Lieutenant Boylan and the
United States Naval Service.
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
air force commendation medal
The Air Force Commendation Medal was authorized by the Secretary of the Air
Force on March 28, 1958, for award to members of the Armed Forces of the United
States who, while serving in any capacity with the Air force after March 24, 1958,
shall have distinguished themselves by meritorious achievement and service. The degree of
merit must be distinctive, though it need not be unique. Acts of courage which do not involve
the voluntary risk of life required for the Soldier’s Medal may be considered for the Air Force
Commendation Medal.
John D. St. John, S.J.
John D. St. John, S.J.
Chaplain (Colonel) John D. St. John
distinguished himself for meritorious service
as Staff Chaplain, Ninth Air Force, Shaw Air
Force Base, South Carolina, from 25 June 1957
to 1 November 1959. During this period of unprecedented operational activity and frequent overseas
deployment by units of this command, Chaplain
St. John’s dynamic personality and tireless efforts
were an inspiration to the commanders and unit
chaplains charged with maintaining the morale
and spiritual welfare of Ninth Air Force personnel.
In addition Headquarters United States Air Force
has accepted a plan conceived by Chaplain St. John
for sending selected members of the USAF Chaplain Corps to civilian institutions of learning to receive specialized training. Designed to enhance the
professional qualifications and prestige of Air Force
chaplains, this program will yield far reaching benefits throughout the Air Force. Chaplain St. John’s
initiative, devotion to duty, and unflagging concern
for the welfare of others have reflected great credit
upon himself, Ninth Air Force and Tactical
Air Command.
Chaplain (Lieutenant Colonel) John D. St. John
distinguished himself by meritorious service as a
member of the USAF Catholic preaching mission
team, Office of the Chief of Air Force Chaplains,
Headquarters USAF, during the period 12 May 1949
to 19 July 1955. During this period Chaplain St. John
traveled 238,082 air miles, which included 1228:58
hours of flying time, to conduct Catholic preaching missions within every oversea Air Force Command. In carrying out these preaching missions,
Chaplain St. John and his co-missioner conducted
218 missions, 1,203 evening services, 2,624 Masses
and administered 64,462 Holy Communions. It is
estimated that 387,784 Air Force personnel and their
dependents of the Catholic faith took part in these
mission activities. Through his efforts as a member
of the Catholic preaching mission team, Chaplain St.
John has brought spiritual benefits and enlightenment to personnel of the Catholic faith and in turn
advanced the program of the Air Force Chaplains
Six-Point Program in developing the spiritual well
being and morale of Air Force Catholic personnel.
In accomplishing his duties in such an outstanding
manner, Chaplain St. John has reflected great credit
upon himself and the United States Air Force.
34 | the medals and the men
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
army commendation medal
The Army Commendation Medal (ARCOM), established by War Department Circular 377,
18 December 1945, is awarded to any member of the Armed Forces of the United States
who, while serving in any capacity in the Army after 6 December 1941, distinguishes
himself or herself by heroism, meritorious achievement or meritorious service.
Award may be made to a member of the Armed Forces of a friendly foreign nation who,
after 1 June 1962, distinguishes himself or herself by an act of heroism, extraordinary
achievement, or meritorious service which has been of mutual benefit to a friendly nation and
the United States. Awards of the Army Commendation Ribbon and of the Commendation
Ribbon with Metal Pendant were redesignated by DA General Orders 10, 31 March 1960, as
awards of the Army Commendation Medal, without amendment of orders previously issued.
George M. Murphy, S.J.
For meritorious and outstanding service
as Chaplain at Valley Forge General Hospital,
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania, from December 1944
to 1 February 1946. Chaplain Murphy filled the
spiritual needs of the patients and no call on his
services went unanswered. Above and beyond his
normal duties he has won the friendship of patients
and staff alike by his sympathetic understanding of
their problems and his congenial personality which
was reflected in his daily tasks. Chaplain Murphy
exemplified the finest attributes of his profession
35 | the medals and the men
and his contribution to the service reflects
great credit upon the Chaplain Corps and the
Military Service.
Robert E. Sheridan, S.J.
His untiring efforts, cheerfulness, pleasing
personality and complete devotion to duty
displayed from 10 May 1945 to 21 February 1946
gave comfort and confidence to patients aboard
the Hospital Ship Chateau Thierry. A high state of
morale was also achieved throughout the voyage.
�chapter 3 | to love and serve
benemerenti medal
The Benemerenti Medal, instituted by Pope Gregory XVI in 1832, is conferred on those who
have exhibited long and exceptional service to the Catholic Church, their families and community. The word benemerenti means “to a well deserving person.”
Thomas P. Fay, S.J.
PIUS XII PONTIFEX MAXIMUS
Numisma Decernere Ac Dilargiri
Dignatus Est
rev. p. thomas p. fay, s.j.
Virtutis Laude Benemerenti
Eidem Facultatem Faciens Seipsum Hoc
Ornamento Decorandi
Ex Aedibus Vaticanis,
Die 30 Aprilis 1947
Benemerenti medal in the collection of the
Thomas P. Fay, S.J., Archives of the Society
of Jesus of New England, College of the Holy
Cross, Worcester, MA
36 | the medals and the men
While serving as Chaplain with the Armed
Forces of the United States of America in the
European Theatre during two years, from July 1944
to July 1946, and particularly during the period
from May 1945 to July 1946, as Chaplain attached
to Western Base Headquarters, France, Thomas
Patrick Fay, of the Society of Jesus, rendered signal
service over and above the line of duty in administration of duties, not only to the American personnel in his charge, but also to the needy population
of the war torn countries and in particular to the
numerous clergy of all faiths among the prisoners
of war held by the victorious American armies in
various encampments in France and Belgium.
Father Fay arranged and provided for spiritual
retreats for Catholic priests and for Lutheran
ministers among the prisoners of war and showed a
devotion to his fellow men which richly deserves the
recognition of the award of the medal “Benemerenti”.
Father Fay’s services in this regard were unique
and invaluable: the more so as they are evidence of
a charity that is truly Christian and transcending
motives merely human.
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
This selection of articles offers an inside look at Jesuit Chaplains. They offer accounts
of their personal experiences, the spiritual dimensions of their service, the harsh realities of war, their admiration for the young men to whom they ministered and with
whom they suffered imprisonment. Also included are sample expressions of appreciation of
extraordinary courage and singular commitment of individual Jesuits that merited for so many
well deserved citations and awards.
M
any of these articles are reprinted from
The Woodstock Letters, a publication
of the Society of Jesus from 1872 until
1969. The Woodstock Letters include historical
articles, updates on work being done by the Jesuits,
eyewitness accounts of historic events, book reviews, obituaries, and various others items of interest to the Society. They provide an invaluable record
of the work done by American Jesuits throughout
th
th
the 19 and 20 centuries. They are now fully
digitized and available online at the St. Louis
University Libraries Digital Collection,
http://cdm.slu.edu/cdm/landingpage/collection/
woodstock
37 | in their own words
Two autobiographical publications, too
lengthy to reprint here, may be of interest.
n “Life Under the Japs: From Bataan’s Fall to
Miraculous Rescue at Cabanatuan by Yanks”
by Major John J. Dugan, S.J. as told to Willard
de Lue and published in installments in the
Boston Globe newspaper from Sunday, April 1
to Saturday, April 21, 1945. Based on a series
of interviews, the full story of Fr. Dugan’s
34 months as a prisoner of war under
the Japanese.
n I Was Chaplain on the “Franklin” by Joseph T.
O’Callahan, S.J. (New York: Macmillan Company, 1956). Fr. O’Callahan recounts his experience
as a Navy Chaplain on the USS “Franklin”, an
aircraft carrier bombed by Japanese aircraft.
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
fighting in france
Father Daniel Lynch was the only New England Province Jesuit to serve in both World
War I and World War II. For his outstanding service in World War I he was awarded the
Purple Heart as well as the Croix de Guerre from the French government for heroic
service during several successive hours under heavy fire. This letter about some of
his experiences in World War I is included here since it captures the spirit that characterized
his later service in World War II.
N
ow that the censorship has relaxed a little,
I shall give you a brief account of my
wanderings over France.
I left New York on May second, on the British India steamer Leistershire. The fleet of fifteen
troop ships were all British, carrying about thirty
thousand troops, with the San Diego (U.S. cruiser)
as escort. After fifteen days at sea we sighted the
north of Ireland and entered Liverpool by the north.
One submarine attack on the way. From Liverpool
we proceeded by train to London where we were
informed that the channel was closed to traffic for
a week. I rested the day after our arrival in London,
visiting Westminster Abbey, etc., and intended to
call at Mill Hill the following day. Orders came for
me that night to proceed immediately to Southampton, where I would find a small fast steamer to take
me to Havre. Of course it was rough, and to see the
destroyers racing along on all sides of us made it a
very interesting evening. From Havre I was ordered
to Paris, where I ran into an air raid the first night.
There was an air raid starting when I left London.
After seeing the sights about Paris for a few days I
started for Blois. From Blois I was shipped to Tours
to join my negroes. As there was no Catholic chaplain in that city, I was called to Headquarters, given
38 | in their own words
the second Aviation Field to look after, besides St.
Pierre des Corps, the three Barracks and American
Hospital. This job I held down till a K. C. chaplain
arrived in about a month and took part of the work.
It was not so hard, as I had lots of transportation
either from Headquarters or Aviation Field. All I
had to do was to call up either garage and I had a
Cadillac at my door in ten minutes. You can imagine my disappointment when I was disturbed
from this gentleman’s mode of warfare by orders
th
to join the 310 Infantry, then in the British area,
at once. Fifty pounds was all I was allowed to carry.
There was some hustling for a day or so, getting my
accounts straightened out, and then after leaving
almost everything I had at Our Fathers’ House in
Tours, I started for Calais via Paris. When I landed
in Paris one of those shells from that long distance
gun dropped, not too far away from the station. It
made quite a mess in those crowded streets, but
as I was expecting to see lots of such excitement
in a few days, I did not delay long. The shells were
then dropping on Paris every twenty minutes. From
Calais I went to Bologne to see another big air raid,
and finally found my regiment near St. Pol. From
St. Pol the regiment moved up back of Arras, a
rather quiet front, except for night air raids. Finally
I got orders to prepare (we thought for Italy). After
two days and two nights in freight cars we landed
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
near the Swiss border. After a week’s rest the troops
moved up back of the St. Mihiel Sector and were
stationed behind the Marines near Limey. Of course
it rained all the time. The roads were in a frightful
condition. All one could see from the light of the
cannons was wrecked transports, dead horses and
men falling from exhaustion. We had all kinds of
surprises, wondering whether bridges were going
to blow up before, or after, or while we were crossing them. We had not really got into action. The
whole sky in front of us was just ablaze with rockets
and flares and all kinds of light. We didn’t know
then where that was, but we knew things would be
more plain in a few hours, as we were going right
through that line. The Marines kept ahead of us till
we reached Thiaucourt, where we relieved them
under the big guns of Metz. A few kilos beyond Thiaucourt the Germans made a stand. We lost about
eight hundred men. Here I buried about one hundred and thirty of our boys in sight of the German
lines and under continuous shell fire. I am about to
write to the good mother of one. She knew from his
letters home he was very close to me, serving my
Mass every morning when possible. I taught him
at St. Peter’s (Jersey City) and buried him under
terrific shell fire. After three and one half weeks of
such excitement the regiment was pulled back for a
th
rest, being relieved by the 256 Regiment. The day
before we retired I said Mass in the woods because
it was pouring rain, and German aeroplanes could
not see us. The Germans shelled us so madly when
they saw us retiring that it was impossible to get my
chaplain’s kit, and maybe it is there yet or somewhere in Germany.
I had taken advantage of a very cloudy day-in
fact it was raining-to say Mass for one of our battalions and two detachments of machine gunners
in the woods north of Thiaucourt. On account of
numerous German planes, which were quick to
signal for heavy shelling on any spot when they
observed men gathered together, we were not able
to say Mass, except in crowded dugouts, for over
two weeks.
After Mass and Communion for over two
hundred, I hurried up the line to bring Communion to the men on duty. When I returned the next
day, our men had been shelled out of the woods and
left my chaplain’s kit behind. I inquired everywhere
of our men and of the other division who occupied
the woods some days later, but no trace of the kit
could be found. I was called to the woods at about
twelve o’clock the night of the shelling to attend to
the dead and the wounded, but in confusion forgot
to look up my kit. We moved that week to the
Argonne, and I have never heard anything of
my chaplain’s outfit since. Division Headquarters
then secured another kit for me from the Knights
of Columbus.
Well, we went back for a good rest and to get
replacements to fill up our ranks. This good long
rest lasted just one night in the rain when we started for the Argonne Forests. Here we went through,
for over a month, some of the most desperate fighting of the whole war. We had the celebrated Prussian Guards against us, and they were there to die,
all with machine guns. When our men would drive
them out of their machine gun nests, they would
come around our right flank and set themselves
in our rear. This fact also made the very front line
as safe as anywhere. How I ever came out alive is
due to the prayers of my dear ones and friends. I
certainly never expected to see the U. S. A. again.
There was nothing to do, but wait to see just what
shell or bomb or machine gun was to have the
honor of doing the job.
Finally on the last big drive we broke this line,
and the retreat started that ended in the armistice.
10 Daniel J. Lynch, “Letter from France,” Woodstock Letters, 48, 285-288.
39 | in their own words
Daniel J. Lynch, S.J.
Lieut. Chaplain10
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
the bravest man i ever knew
today is three days before the 14th anniversary of pearl harbor, which reminds me that
some day soon i’ll be staring at a movie screen and reliving another naval tragedy – the
most unforgettable day of my life. There, in the midst of a seaborne holocaust, I will see a
wide grin topped by a helmet with a white cross. That will be someone acting like Joseph Timothy O’Callahan, and he may do it well, but he’ll never match the original.
F
ather O’Callahan was the bravest man I ever
knew. A Jesuit and an instructor in mathematics and philosophy, he was a Lieutenant Commander and Senior Chaplain on the USS
Franklin, a big aircraft carrier that I was commanding on March 19, 1945, about 50 Miles off the coast
of Japan.
Not long after dawn that morning, while we
were launching aircraft, the Franklin was hit with
two heavy bombs by a skilled Japanese dive bomber.
Both bombs penetrated to the hangar deck, killing
everyone inside. The planes on the flight deck were
bounced into the air and came down in a pile, their
churning propellers chopping into gas tanks and
spilling about 17,000 gallons of fuel. The gasoline
vapor went off with a tremendous blast and we were
on fire from stem to stern on three decks.
For four interminable hours blast after blast
rocked the ship. All interior communications were
destroyed, fire mains were cut, all power was lost.
From my position on the bridge, it seemed
that wherever I looked I could see a familiar battle
helmet with a white cross painted on it. My navigator, Commander Stephen Jurika, didn’t overstate
the case when he wrote in his log: “O’Callahan was
everywhere, leading men, officiating at last rites,
manning hoses and doing the work of 10 men.”
40 | in their own words
Thousand-pound bombs kept going off like
firecrackers at a festival. The men would scurry
away, only to meet the padre charging in after more
of the wounded. Time and again they followed him.
There are twin turrets fore and aft of the
Franklin’s bridge – ammunition-handling rooms for
five-inch anti-aircraft guns. In mid-morning the aft
one blew up in the worst blast yet.
I looked at the forward turret. Visible heat
fumes were coming out of the top hatch, indicating
it might be next to blow. I called to a group of men
on deck to take a hose inside and cool it down. They
didn’t understand but O’Callahan did. He recruited
two other officers and the three of them went down
into that oven-hot hole with a small emergency
hose, knowing that it might blow sky-high
any instant.
A few minutes later O’Callahan’s smoke-grimed
face grinned up at me from the hatch as he made
the OK sign with his fingers. Then he and the other
two officers passed out the ammo, still blistering
hot, to a waiting line of men who tossed it overboard. I breathed a sigh of relief. If that turret had
gone like the other one, the ship probably would
have been abandoned and lost.
I recommended Chaplain O’Callahan for
the Congressional Medal of Honor, and it was
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
approved. The President himself presented the
medal, the only similar award to a chaplain since
the Navy’s Medal of Honor was created in 1861.
I am not a Catholic. I have been asked why
I recommended the Congressional Medal for
O’Callahan and only Navy Crosses for the two officers who accompanied him into the jaws of death.
To a sea-going professional the answer is obvious.
The other two men were line officers. It was not
“above and beyond the call of duty” for them to risk
their lives to save the ship. But it was no part of the
chaplain’s duty to help carry that hose into a dark,
hot and explosive turret. He just went.
In the afternoon another Jap plane sprayed us
with bullets. The padre, on deck, didn’t even look
up. “Why didn’t you duck? I shouted. He grinned
and yelled back: “God won’t let me go until He’s
ready.” Maybe that explained everything.
We got a tow late in the day and managed to
outlive the night. By morning we had part of our
power again and managed to limp back to Pearl
Harbor, the worst-damaged Navy ship ever to reach
port. With 432 dead and more than 1,000 wounded,
ours was the greatest casualty list in Navy history.
All the way back Chaplain O’Callahan was the
life of the party. He helped organize a band with
dish pans and tubs and he wrote parodies of
familiar songs to keep the boys in humor. The
Jewish lads aboard, who had no chaplain of their
own faith, got tired of hearing the Irish boast about
their padre.
“He’s our padre, too,” one of them declared.
“To us he’s Rabbi Joe, you jerks.” The story
got around. Years later, I received a note from
O’Callahan signed, “Yours in Christ, Rabbi Joe.”
Now, a decade after the disaster, Columbia
Studios in Hollywood is working on a film, Battle
Stations, based on the Franklin’s travail and on the
heroism of Chaplain O’Callahan, who’ll have a
fictitious name in the movie.
He’s back at Holy Cross College in Worcester,
Massachusetts, where he taught before the war.
Three years of general combat service on carriers
didn’t help his health any. I hear he has suffered a
stroke and is now a semi-invalid although he hopes
to teach again soon. His spirits are still high, I’m
told. They would be. I pray God isn’t ready to let
him go for a long time to come.
Rear Admiral Leslie E. Gehres,
USN (Ret.)11
11 Leslie E. Gehres, “…The Bravest Man I ever Knew,” The American Weekly. (December 1955).
41 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
the american spirit
i can tell the whole story of my comrades during these past three years in a few
simple words. Those words are these – they proved themselves real Americans; Americans
with honesty, courage, Godliness and fine common sense; Americans who never faltered
and who may have feared, but were too proud to admit it. Many of them found God in death;
others found their God with me in the simple service we were allowed to hold in our rude
little prison chapel.
Y
es, we lived a barbaric, cruel and often bestial
existence. But we lived a life which bound each
unto the other and we shared the pain and suffering of imprisonment under our ruthless Japanese
captors with the same community feeling with which
we are now sharing our freedom under the Army officers and men who are almost too kind to be real.
I was one of those few fortunate men who missed
the Death March – I was ill, too ill to walk, and even
the Japanese apparently feared to infringe greatly at
that time on the Church.
But everywhere around me I saw what they did to
our men. First they confiscated everything we had –
our few precious remaining valuables and keepsakes,
what little food we had saved aside, and, yes, even
our medicines.
Not then, nor weeks later, nor months later, did
they ever give us that medicine we needed so badly for
our wounded and our dying.
They did everything they could to starve us, but
they forgot one thing – the American spirit. Our boys
had that from the start to the finish and they absolutely refused to let the Japanese crush that spirit.
Deliberately, in the first days, they did all they
could to confuse us. There were frequent moves,
disquieting reports which they circulated of what our
42 | in their own words
leaders were doing, propaganda about how America
was about to surrender.
It achieved them no good except to create an even
deeper distrust and dislike.
Our death toll at first was staggering. In the early
days at Camp Cabanatuan, second only to the terrible
scenes at Camp O’Donnell for savage administration,
our soldiers were dying at the rate of fifty a day.
Then, in late November of 1942, we were given
our first Red Cross parcels – parcels with food, medicine, cigarettes and even some reading matter which
the enemy troops let pass.
Nothing was received in all the time we were
imprisoned that did so much to lift our morale, to increase our confidence and to cut our death rate. That
medicine meant the difference between life and death
for many scores of our men.
All the officers, chaplains and doctors had to do
manual labor in the fields every day, working from
dawn to dusk.
Our jobs ranged from cleaning latrines to farming and wood chopping. And those who failed to meet
the schedule the Japanese had set were beaten and
sometimes executed.
I’ve seen more than one American beaten to death
because he lacked both the strength and the will to
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
keep up the back-breaking physical labors our captors demanded. Certain memorable highlights stand
out in those three years we were in captivity, but not
many. In time, often in a very short time, the sheer
weight of living becomes so heavy you strive to let
each day pass with as little notice as possible,
except for a thankful prayer that you are still alive.
I could tell of tens and tens of thousands of terrible things we saw and heard, of little events which
we magnified so much at the time, but which seem so
small to us now, of more of that same type of camaraderie I mentioned before.
But fortunately, while the hardships of those years
will always remain, somewhere deep within us, it’s
the brighter things we like to remember.
For example, the wonderful kindness of all the
Filipinos who willingly sacrificed their lives and freedom to bring us gifts of food or medicine.
I cannot find words to praise too highly their
unselfishness, their loyalty and their friendship for
us when we were representatives of what seemed to
everyone but them and us, a great lost cause.
I can give the time right down to the minute
when our captors knew that our cause was not a lost
one. It was 10:30 a.m. on Sept. 21 of last year. We
were working in the fields when that hope flew past
high above us – in the form of at least 150 carrierbased planes.
We should have been beaten to death had we
showed the least outward signs of happiness, but you
can imagine what joyfulness seethed within.
That moment, I think, we all knew better than
ever before that the Americans were on the way back
to us for sure.
It was an unforgettable day in all our lives.
I like to recall Christmas Eve of 1942, also – an
evening which will live in my mind as one of the great
experiences of all my imprisonment.
We secured permission from the prison authorities to hold Christmas services in the fields near
Cabanatuan. All the churches and all denominations
were represented in that picturesque setting and
6,000 American soldiers came to that single service
of belief.
I am sure God looked down on us that night and
today I am equally sure that He answered our prayers.
Of course, Tuesday night, Jan. 30, was our night
of redemption and there’ll never be another quite like
it for any of us.
If all Americans are pouring into this war the
same efforts those 120 Rangers gave, individually and
collectively, to rescue us from almost certain death,
then I know why we are winning this war.
They did an absolutely herculean task with truly
beautiful teamwork.
You just can’t put into words what your heart feels
when freedom – the last thing you have learned to
expect after three years of prison – is suddenly yours.
What perhaps made it most realistic to me was
that two friends – Lieut. John Murphy of Springfield,
Mass., and Lieutenant O’Connell of Boston – were
among the first to recognize me and tell me it was not
a dream, but reality.
Then I knew that even though there was a long
march ahead of us, home lay at the end of the road.
Our Government cannot reward too highly
Colonel Mucci and his Rangers for what they did.
I want to say once again that the morale of
our men the night we left Cabanatuan was the
s
� ame strong, unflinching morale they’d showed
throughout, and I want to say again how proud they
make me feel to be an American.
How do I feel about this new freedom? It’s like
walking in a new and wonderful world.
12 John J. Dugan, “Cabanatuan Prison Camp,” Woodstock Letters, 74, 154-157.
43 | in their own words
Captain John J. Dugan, S.J.,
U. S. Army Chaplain12
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
journey to morocco
sunday, october 25, 1942 –feast of christ the king. 0530 – General quarters. Mass on boat
deck aft at 0630, half an hour before sunrise. The altar is set against the shield of the #16 and
#18mm AA guns, with crews manning them. Portside aft of boat deck, as I turn around to start
the Mass, the full moon is setting in the west, a bit pale after its long trip, looking as though it
needed a rest. Stray clouds drift along slowly, keeping company with the moon to make sure that
she will not be lonely. They are just a handful who apparently detached themselves from their
brothers and sisters and went on their own. The others have gone to parts unknown.
T
he winds are blowing a bit but nothing of
consequence to disturb me during the Mass.
Men, hundreds of them, stand in the three
he visited my room. He told me their job is to cut
the net silently for passage up of a destroyer;
they have rubber boats with paddles on board. Hope
to take charge of the net tenders without resorting
to bloodshed.
Why did he sign up for this volunteer work?
“I told my wife that I would give everything I’ve got;
this was a chance to give. Will be doing our bit to
bring the war to a close in a hurry.
I’d hate to think that my two little girls would
have to live in a world ruled by Hitler and his gang.
That’s why I signed up.”
Calmly he spoke of his ambitions and ideals,
the long preparations made for this raid, how he
used to read about such things in books as a boy,
without ever dreaming that he would take part in
one some day.
monday, october 26, 1942.
Today, our fourth day at sea, is fairly rough for
landlubbers. Yet, Mr. Kreutzer, 2nd Division Officer,
asserts that this amounts to nothing. He was crossing the Pacific once, when his freighter tried to
climb a wall of water three times and slid back three
times. Yet it is rough enough for us strangers to
44 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
the sea. Last night in my bunk, I smacked my head
against the portside bulkhead as the ship rolled
way over.
Out on deck after celebrating Mass with a dozen
men receiving Holy Communion, as far as the eye
can see, white horses are on the rampage. One of
the ships behind is really pitching. Her keel is visible ten feet below the waterline as she rises up on
the huge waves.
1200 – A new convoy of four ships join us,
the battlewagon Massachusetts, two heavy cruisers, and a tanker. They flank our starboard side of
the convoy, sliding along slowly, their horsepower
cut down to keep company with us fellows who are
making only 15 knots.
Lieut. Robbins of the Army stops me on the
way out from the wardroom. Wonders if it would
be possible for me to mail a message to his wife
after his outfit leaves the ship. “Just in case I am
ploughed under,” he says, “I would like her to have
a last word, from me.” He speaks quietly of his little
girl four months old whom he hopes that he will
see again. He will write a letter to her also. But his
problem, “What if I write, yet nothing happens and
I manage to be one of the survivors of the initial
attack?” He remarks that he will wrestle with the
problem for a while, then let me know his decision.
He is a young fellow, well-educated, who speaks in
soft tones; yet through those tones runs the quiet
determination that must make him a good officer
for his men. I don’t like to think of him lying, a
crumpled piece of humanity, on the French Morocco shore. He, like all the others aboard our ship,
has so much to live for. May God bring them back
safely to their own some day.
2000 – I go looking for Chaplain Tepper, a
Jewish Rabbi, to obtain one of the harmonicas that
he brought aboard. One of his soldiers wants to
make the night loud with music. Before leaving he
presented me with one of the pocketknives that
45 | in their own words
will be given as tokens of friendship to the native
Moroccans. Brightly colored blankets and cloth are
also among the goodwill offerings that make up a
part of our strange cargo.
2200 – I go to the chart room directly behind
the bridge and discover what our course has been.
First we sailed directly south until we were north
of Bermuda, east of Charleston, SC, then we sailed
directly east, then north, then east again until at
this hour we are about 800 miles directly east of
Baltimore. We delayed to allow the convoys departing after us an opportunity to catch up.
2230 – Discussion in the passageway with
Lieut. Gilchrist and Dr. Walker. They tell me this
will be the largest number of ships ever to sail
together in history. We have now picked up three
subs that are riding straight ahead of us on the
surface. When we start landing operations they
will help to form part of the protecting screen
with orders to shoot anything in sight that heaves.
Also learn from them that the password is
“Bordeaux,” for our friends ashore. They speak the
word, then show the inside of their hats on which
the same word must be written. Practically all of
our fifth column groundwork in Northern Africa
has been done by Free French sympathizers.
One hour before “H” hour all the governors
of Northern Africa with the exception of Spanish
Morocco will be handed a letter informing them
of the turn of events. They are expected to take
the correct decision.
tuesday, october 27, 1942 – 5th day at sea.
Mass at end of General Quarters as usual in
the library.
0730 – At breakfast we learn that the new
convoy has arrived. Promptly we stow the rest
of the toast down the hatch, then make for the
flying bridge. Then a sight! As far as the eye can
see, ships of all sorts, shapes and sizes. Aircraft
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
“� hat if I write, yet nothing happens and I manage to be one of the survivors of
W
the initial attack?” He remarks that he will wrestle with the problem for a while,
then let me know his decision. He is a young fellow, well-educated, who speaks in
soft tones; yet through those tones runs the quiet determination that must make
him a good officer for his men.
carriers, battlewagons – three more of them; 25
more transports, innumerable destroyers and SPs,
heavy cruisers, all rolling in the heavy sea. It is an
impressive, awe-inspiring sight, one that never does
tire the eyes. Suddenly, the formations are shifting.
We slacken our speed, they cross our bow at a slight
angle; we pick up speed and move out to their portside. Our two middle lanes of ships move into the
middle of their lineup and our starboard line shoots
far out to form the starboard column of the entire
convoy. Again, the sight is most impressive. As
far as the eye can see, in every direction, ships are
ploughing ahead while our watchdogs now steam
alongside of us; then turn back. Then they shoot in
between us to nail any sub foolish enough to try to
do damage within the columns.
0815 – Quarters Commander Irwin informs
us that we must all be inoculated against typhus
now for those germs have no respect for gold braid.
He tells us that November 7 is the “H” day; that
in this convoy he counted 49 ships and then gave up.
“Business is meant on this trip and we must do our
part; we will do it, so let no officer consider it beneath
his dignity to grab a line that needs attention when
we are engaged in the unloading operations.”
To the soldiers a letter from General George
Patton is read in which the reasons for this expedition are outlined. At the close of the letter he writes:
“The eyes of the world are watching you, the heart of
America beats for you, God’s blessing is with you.”
friday, october 30, 1942 – 8 day at sea.
th
Today a fairly smooth sea running after the
46 | in their own words
heavy weather of the last two days. Taking advantage of the change, three planes from the four carriers astern of us put off and go long range scouting
overhead. Before long their reports come back to
our ship indirectly – four German submarines 25
miles directly ahead. Immediately, we strike off to
starboard on a new course to avoid those who would
at least try to detain us, if not permanently detach
us and as many as possible from our convoy.
1030 – I continue instructions in the faith with
Washington Mess Attendant. My question is “Who
is God?” He answers: “God is a being who is infinitely perfect,” and I ask him: “What do you mean
by infinitely perfect?” And he replies” “Nothing
no better.”
The one carrier that has been with us since the
second day of the trip has her flattop jammed with
Army planes. They will land after the capture of the
airport at Port Lyautey before they start winging
their way east to battle the German Luftwaffe.
Spend most of this day laying the keel for Sunday’s sermon when the men will be at Mass probably
for the last time for “H” hour is 2400, midnight Saturday. It is hoped that all good Frenchmen and native
Moroccans will be sleeping the sleep of the just.
Before retiring I step out on the flying bridge. A
destroyer is only 50 yards off our port beam, hugging
close to keep off those four subs sighted earlier.
saturday, october 31, 1942 – 9th day at sea.
I go topside after breakfast. Far off on the horizon the tankers are feeding their black gold to the
cruisers and destroyers. We have slowed down to
�Sunday, November 1, 1942 – Feast of All
Saints and 23rd Sunday after Pentecost.
0650 – Mass at the end of General Quarters;
about 350 in attendance, 125 Communions, a most
edifying sight. Very windy. God is pleased with
our primitive surroundings. Overhead is the blue
canopy of the sky. We have no walls broken by
stained glass windows, just sterns and bows; we
boast no marble inlaid floor, just a wooden deck; no
fluted columns soaring aloft and carrying on their
shoulders tons of masonry and steel; only a strong
king post adorned with cables and pulleys and lines
that are whistling in the wind.
0900 – General Service. About 200 there,
including Major Dilley. I speak of Jesus Christ and
loyalty to Him, the need for a man to examine the
foundations of his life at this crucial time.
0330 – In the afternoon, Benediction on the
boat deck aft; the first with my Benediction kit.
Rosary; full-throated response by Catholic men
most inspiring. Altar is placed against the side
of one of the invasion boats. To the left is an AA
station; men manning it over the side. Starboard
are ships of our convoy, all steaming south away
from the western sun that is slanting its rays on us.
Three hymns: Mother Dear, Oh Pray for Me; Holy
God We Praise Thy Name; Tantum Ergo. Unforgettable – men remark it later!
Jack Bennett, Notre Dame boy, 15006 Fenway
Avenue, Lakewood, Ohio serves my Mass. He is
one of the soldiers aboard ship. He says that he gets
more of a thrill out of serving my Mass on the boat
deck aft, flush against the side of an invasion boat
or up against an AA gun mount shield than he did
the times he served in Cathedrals.
friday, november 6, 1942.
Ship vibrates violently; four depth charges
dropped by destroyer ahead of us. Later tremendous
oil slick floats by our starboard side.
47 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
“Wallace Beery” Johnson, member of Naval
Commando Net Party, weight 225, infectious
smile, gentle as a kitten, pounds out a good tune
on the piano, his favorite – Indian Love Call by
Victor Herbert.
saturday, november 7, 1942.
Mass at dawn; about 50 received. Our planes are
flying in formation over us. THE DAY! Men give
me letters to mail “just in case they are killed;”
give me money to hold for them or to send home.
0900 – Soldier on deck singing as he makes his
way aft – “Give My Regards to Old Broadway.”
0330 – Benediction and Rosary; 300 present.
saturday night, november 7, 1942.
2200 – Jagged lightning behind what appear
to be hills in the distance.
2400 Midnight – Patrol Boat – if it fires,
“Blast her out of the water.” We also passed a Portuguese ship last night brightly illuminated. She did
not see us; if she had, she would have been sunk
after her passengers were taken off. I give out
Viaticum to the Catholic men in the library after
hearing confessions.
0045 – Topside, inky blackness; can’t even
see my hand in front of me. Two clusters of light
ashore; boats going over the side.
I stand by silently and bless the men as they
start their battle operation. The President speaks
four hours before we land.
0230 – Mass in library with Jack Burke present.
0315 – Topside. Cmdr. Irwin is directing traffic
on the bridge.
0330 – Tea and toast.
0500 – Five French ships, merchant-men, pass
right ahead of us, blue, red, green; Foudrayante Dohremy unmistakably painted on the sides.
0545 – Lieut. Starkweather sends up red cluster
that shows the net has been broken and that the
48 | in their own words
destroyer U. S. S. Dallas can go up the river to the fort
and then on to the airport.
0605 – Tremendous barrage of red hot steel laid
down on the beach. Broken arc of red dashes against
the black velvet of the night sky.
Dawn. A cloudy day. Lieut. Haile returns to the
ship and remarks that the first three waves got ashore
without difficulty. Commando Net Party returns to
ship; net not broken. Searchlight picked them up –
crossfire of machine guns nailed party down helplessly.
0740 – Shore batteries open fire on us alone; we
are the biggest of eight ships with all invasion boats
clustered around us like a hen with chicks – eight
near misses. Wheeeeeeeeee – then tremendous
geysers; one shell right over the forecastle. We could
follow the course of the shells coming from the fort
on the crest of the hill.
0800 – “Enemy Bombers Overhead!” from Executive Officer.
0805 – U. S. S. Pennsylvania AA guns fire – two
puffs – plane aflame, plunges into ocean, disintegrates.
0815 – U. S. S. Savannah and U. S. S. Texas pour
tons of steel into the fort. Ammunition dump ashore
a pillar of smoke.
0945 – Three casualties; two serious – Lieut.
McCrackin and Kolfenbach, a Catholic to whom I
administer the Last Sacraments when he was dying
after being on the operating table for two hours. Four
bullets drilled him; strafed by planes as his boat hit
for the beach. “All hands to General Quarters; enemy
submarine sighted off starboard beam.”
1230 – In sick bay. Depth charges rocking ship
during operations on wounded. We maneuver wildly
to escape subs.
1330 – We have command of the air with our
planes cruising in formation over us. Topside, heavy
firing shoreward and seaward. Radio man tells me
last report. “Co. F reports that it is completely
surrounded by the enemy.”
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
sick bay cases:
1630 – Six more casualties; three ambulatory.
Lieut. Starkweather of Net Party reports that
“we were spotted immediately and caught in searchlights, withering crossfire of machine guns, both
jetties, and then we had to run for it as the fort laid
it on us also.”
Young sailors who wouldn’t wear life jackets
once now all wear them; wouldn’t wear helmets
either. “Enemy bombers overhead” cured them.
Strange, even at that announcement, how one could
be so cool, stand watching them, and go to bed at
2015 and sleep through a quiet night.
monday, november 9, 1942.
Arose at 0700. Mass attended by Commando
Party in gratitude for their safe return. Day is a bit
cloudy; “rainy sunshine.” We move closer, within
four miles of beach. Tremendous surf crashing
on the jetties, ship rolls on the swell. Fifteen more
wounded. We move within one mile of the beach.
Picturesque summer colony of light brown cottages
with red-tiled roofs. On this beach our men landed
yesterday morning.
Four men dumped out of boat as she was being
hoisted in; dangerous but nobody is injured, fortunately. One man wounded in arm; was ducked once
on beach, then again as he was being lifted into
the ship.
Twenty-three American bombers fly over us.
Last night two destroyers pour hot metal over the
hills at some objective which we cannot see; arc
of red hot dashes for miles.
Boat #5 spills being lifted up with one wounded
man who gets ducked. Inboard guy loose. Five
dumped when Penn tankers hit sandbar, then
surf upended, nosed her over with men in tank.
Report on radio: “Fierce fighting north of Casa
Blanca.” “That’s us,” says Perkins, E. M. 1/c.
49 | in their own words
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
Machine gunned by plane before
hitting beach.
Machine gunned on shore.
Shrapnel cases.
Concussion – Jack Bennett.
Man blinded in whose face gun exploded.
Crushed by boats against side of ship.
Crushed by boat broached on the beach.
U. S. S. Penn: Seven drowned in tank in
boat nosed over by surf- heavy swell.
One man about 26 was quietly sobbing to himself. “If I can help you, I’d be glad of the privilege.
What’s the trouble?” “Nothing, sir.” After a while, he
said that he went to pieces under the gunfire, machine
gun plane strafing and coast artillery and men crumbling on every side of him.
1000 – Commando Net Party tries again.
I give Catholics Viaticum; six of them.
1015 – They shove – portside aft – pitch dark
down the landing net. Just before they go, “Kneel
down, men.” Benedictio Dei, etc. “May the blessing of Almighty God, Father, Son and Holy Ghost
descend upon you and remain forever. May He
be with you in your mission and bring you
back safely.”
tuesday, november 10, 1942.
There was a knock on my door at 0400. Three
men of the Party, Chief and two others. “Well,
Padre, we made it.” Congratulations and then the
story. Ran out of fuel first, came back at midnight
to the ship, then started in again, black as coal.
Tremendous surf. Got by the jetties, being carried
down the river. No Colonel Henny on the dock of
the fish cannery as expected. Suddenly swept onto
the net; rocket guns cut steel cables one inch thick –
one cut, current forced most of cable out; then cut
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
the other and both of the two dories at either end
of them swept out to sea and they swept out after
them, raked by machine gun fire from nests south
of the fort and by 75mm from near the fort; shell
about 18 feet long and eight inches in diameter.
Green, the bowhook; Southern youngster. “Did you
ever operate a machine gun before?” “No, sir, but
ah sure operated this one!” (Quiet, soft-spoken, yet
to shave.) Courage and bravery of these boys under
fire – don’t worry about American youth, one and all
of them. Surf 30 feet high on way out. Boat about 30
feet long pointed bow ride up to the crest and then
drop as if going over a cliff. Lieut. Starkweather lifted up bodily, flung nose first on the deck – sprained
ankle, smashed fingers. River Oued Sebou. “Would
rather face hell of machine gun fire than that surf
again.” Afraid – all of them grown men but got used
to it after a while.
0700 – Destroyer Dallas goes up the river
48 hours late with 80 Rangers to take the airfield.
1030 – Seven casualties brought alongside; four
brought aboard when General Quarters was sounded. First Aid station was set upon the beach, then
carried out, ferried to us on ship in tank lighter.
Three left behind in lighter as we got underway on
sub alarm.
I stayed with a Lutheran who remarked: “I sure
would appreciate a prayer.” He had been wounded
by shrapnel in the arm badly, in the forehead, on
the left eyebrow, left hip, left leg in front and right
calf. “Sweet Jesus, mercy. I offer up this suffering
for you in union with your sufferings on Calvary for
my sins, for my buddies wounded and lying ashore
without protection or attention.”
1345 – Just met Lieut. Gilchrist outside my
door. He was in the tank lighter that capsized
yesterday 300 yards from shore, in 30 feet of water,
nosed over by 30 feet of surf. Four soldiers in tank
trapped and drowned, sunk not like a stone but like
what she was – a tank.
50 | in their own words
1350 – End of General Quarters.
1430 – Dive bombers, three of them, circled
over target on hill, then leveled off, came in and
blasted; then Texas on north and Cruiser on south
poured in their salvos of shellfire.
1500 – Tug pulls alongside with two Frenchmen; name of tug – Moumein. Two family men
said that Germans took them to Dakar. They
jumped off the ship and swam ashore. French think
they are fighting the English. Took both of them to
wardroom for coffee. They asked for milk for the
children. Loaded them with food and their tug with
supplies for men ashore.
Situation ashore: Airport taken today at 1200.
Our P 40s land; five nose over. A Major, one of
our patients, was the only one seriously hurt.
This afternoon casualties started to flow back to
us; lose first man, Huffstutler, from a bullet wound
in stomach.
A Protestant carried over his heart a copy of
the Gospel according to Mark, small copy – bullet
cut through it and picture of his girl and left only
a black and blue bruise. “Supply your own
explanation, Father.”
1800 – Dinner in wardroom, radio turned on.
Englishman broadcasting from Berlin remarked
that Media Beach had been captured. First mention
of us at all by any commentator. Oran and Tangiers
fell last night, Monday.
2000 – Executive Officer informs me that the
Captain desires burial of soldier who died this
evening to be done ashore tomorrow morning.
wednesday, november 11, 1942.
0900 – I go ashore in support boat with body
of Huffstutler. Two machine guns on either side
and cases for 48 rockets, 4 lbs of TNT, racks six on
either side with four slots on each.
We hug the south jetty on the northern side.
Swirling current and surf about ten feet high.
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
See tragic reminders of inexperience of coxswains
with this shore; overturned lighters near the rocks.
River runs parallel with ocean after a sharp turn.
We hit Brown Beach and as I step ashore on
African soil for the first time I raise my hand in
blessing. The entrance to the fort is just off the
narrow catwalk. Off to the left is the house where
temporary headquarter have been set up. I inform
the doctor present of my mission and am directed
to Blue Beach where a cemetery is being built. On
the way up I see the roadway lined with bodies of
Americans and Moroccans. Directly overhead are
the frowning walls of the old sandstone Moroccan
fortress that our men took by storm yesterday. After
a mile and a half ride in an army jeep I met Dr.
Cassedy, our young doctor, who went ashore with
the medical detachment Sunday morning. He is
happy to see me and all his corpsmen sing out a
“Hello, Father!” They are working like slaves taking care of the American, French and Moroccan
wounded. A hospital has been improvised of a large
summer residence. Twenty beds have been set up
and there the wounded are being attended to. I give
the Last Rites to two badly hit Frenchmen who
will die.
Mehdia Plage itself is a picturesque little summer resort of 154 houses by actual count. French
love of color in evidence – buff, cream-colored
walls, blue blinds, red and green tiled roofs.
I am told that Army Chaplain Tepper, the
Jewish Rabbi, for whom I am searching is up at
the cemetery just over the brow of the hill behind
the town. On the way up I see three women and a
cluster of half a dozen children about four and five
years old. I tell Conway the bugler and the soldier
accompanying me to wait for a minute while I go
down and identify myself as a Catholic priest
and give them some medals of Our Lady and the
Little Flower. The eyes of the mothers light up at
the mention of St. Therese de Lisieux.
51 | in their own words
Pass gabled house – seven gables and coneshaped roof, along a sand road, down, then up a
slight incline, a turn to the left through the short
cedars, where an American flag identifies the location of seven American bodies. There is a sailor
from the Anthony Cooper who is awaiting burial.
He was killed when his tank lighter capsized and
his head struck the side.
Chaplain Tepper is now down at the fort I am
told, so I start down for the Mehdia Plage again and
receive a ride up to the fort there and meet Tepper
who is directing the collecting of the bodies. The
fort was a formidable military installation, a steep
precipice on one side and three slopes leading up
to it on the other side, pitted with foxholes and
trenches. Flanking its approaches are large concrete
square houses with half a dozen compartments.
These presented an obstacle to assaulters that was
costly, as the corpses stiff, cold, and frozen in the
grotesque positions of their death agony testified.
What a hideous, repulsive countenance war has.
It tears the heart to see the tragedy of young faces
upturned to the sky, staring with glazed eyes meaningless at the sun.
When half a dozen bodies had been collected
in addition to my two boys – sailor and soldier, I
started the service at about one o’clock just outside
the east end of the fort by a Moslem cemetery.
Along the south wall were lined the bodies. Along
the east wall the graves were being dug by 50 odd
Arab prisoners. They stopped, flanked me on the
right, with 50 of our soldiers on my left, the bugler
on my rear.
I read our prayers over them after the soldiers
and Arabs and a few French have snapped to attention when the order was given them, “May the
Angels lead thee into Paradise, may the Martyrs
receive thee at thy coming, etc.” Never shall I forget
the circumstances under which I conducted that funeral service. Overhead the blue sky was cloudless,
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
a gentle Moroccan breeze stirred the air of a day
warm with sunshine. At the foot of the hill, swinging idly at anchor, were our eight ships, Commando
and cargo, while the protecting screen of
destroyers and patrol craft and the battlewagon
Texas kept away the marauders of the sea. Straight
ahead stretched away the broad reaches of the
Atlantic. Over the edge of its horizon was country,
home, dear ones, for all of which these boys from
New York and Michigan and Texas had died that
the foul breath of Hitlerism might never come close
enough to blight those near and dear to them.
Here these boys lie on the crest of this hill on
which they gave their last measure of devotion. The
bugler sounds taps and we have paid them our last
respects. “Eternal rest grant unto to them, O Lord,
and may perpetual light shine upon them. May
their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed
rest in peace. Amen.”
The simple but impressive ceremony is over
and the Arabs go back to their task of digging the
graves. A Catholic boy who comes up to me regrets
that there was no Catholic priest aboard his ship on
the way over. I hear his confession then and there
on the hill.
I wander around the hill and the fort to give my
blessing to men whose bodies have not yet been
brought in, twelve in all. A young officer, Lieut.
Sharf, is one who ate in our wardroom; a splendid
young Jewish boy who wondered when he left the
ship at midnight Saturday if he would see his wife
by her next birthday in May. He lay where he fell,
200 yards from the east wall of the fort, dying as
he led his men in charge. Inside one of the small
rooms in the glorified pillbox are two Catholic boys
who managed to get in alive but will be brought out
differently. They are lying in their own dry caked
blood, their heads horribly gashed, brain of one of
them completely exposed.
Off to the west are two long trenches protecting the line of six 5” guns that lobbed shells at us
52 | in their own words
Sunday morning. One had been blasted by a direct
hit. At the base of the other lay a boy by the name of
Hastings from New York City. His mother, mercifully, will never know how he looked in death. To
one and all of them I give my blessing. The last has
a small funeral group as three sailors join me in
saying prayers over a boy from Indiana. At the lighthouse one of the Lieutenants whom we carried over
the ocean informs me that he will be grateful if I
would explain to the Arab family in the square white
house next to the lighthouse that they may stay if
they wish. I tell them, “S’il vous plait, restez ici.”
The man of the family is grateful for the information and stops carting out their pitifully few possessions. Their mule that had given them, I suppose,
patient dogged service, is dead alongside their door.
Returning down to Brown Beach we see more
evidence of the murderous efficiency of the dive
bombing that finally crushed all resistance.
I speak with French boys 16 and 17 years old.
They say that they did not know that they were
fighting the Americans; they thought they were
English – for whom they have apparently only a
bitter hatred and would fight to the year 2000
against them.
1600 – We return to Brown Beach where the
prisoners are industriously unloading our boats of
their supplies. A squadron of deadly tanks roar out
of the temporary garage on its way to a rendezvous
somewhere.
Chaplain Tepper in charge of the personal
effects of the dead boys gives me something that
touches me deeply – a copy of Joyce Kilmer’s
“Prayer of a Soldier in France,” that I had mimeographed and gave out at the last Sunday Mass
aboard ship. Yes, this day will be among one of
the unforgettable!
Upon returning to the ship I learned that the
Armistice had been signed at 1 p.m. this morning.
Thank God this needless bloodshed is over, in at
least one section of a bloodstained world in which
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
Germans are killing Russians and English, Italians
and Americans, French.
Climb up the side of the ship by Jacob’s ladder
hand over hand up 50 feet of landing net. Pitch
dark ship rolling in the long swells swings us out
away from the side and then in to it.
thursday, november 12, 1942.
Unloading of ship continues. I visit the wounded
in their staterooms; we have 65 aboard.
friday, november 13, 1942.
I go ashore in the afternoon to visit the
American wounded in the French hospital in Port
Lyautey. I step ashore at Brown Beach, arrange
for transfer of all wounded – 60 day convalescent
cases, beg a ride in an Army jeep to the town over
the crest of a hill. The town stands out dazzling
white in its African colonial setting against the
white green of the surrounding hills. At its entrance
soldier guards challenge us. I identify myself and
my mission to the two soldiers who recognize me
as off the Clymer; recently they were two of the
passengers. Off down the long paved highway
flanked with quaint houses of varying design – some
modernistic, square-boxed, cream-colored walls, blue
blinds, yellow roofs. I guess that they are, or rather
most of the buildings are white to lessen the heat of
the Moroccan sun. In the hospital I greet two of our
boys badly wounded; one will die, the other will live
minus his left forearm. I give out cigarettes – worth
their weight in gold, chocolate bars, and apples;
people have had a lean time these last few years.
On the way back to Brown Beach in the jeep,
I espy Major Dilley of the Army. We have a happy
reunion for a few minutes. When we last heard of
him, he was shying away from shrapnel thrown
by a French shell. It was good to see him safe and
sound after so many wounded. He informed me
that 74 Americans were killed, about 700 French-
53 | in their own words
men and Moroccans. Their firepower could not
match our rifles, more rounds, grenades, machine
guns, artillery, etc.
saturday, november 14, 1942.
Sperry of the Commando Party presents me with
a beautiful picture of the fort. I shall always treasure this tangible evidence of their thoughtfulness.
It will also help to freeze in my memory the spot
where I counted 58 crosses last evening.
Lieut. Mark Starkweather, 3174 165th Street,
Cleveland, Ohio (his permanent address) finds that
he has a broken heel as another souvenir of his trip
up the river to break the net.
sunday, november 15, 1942.
Although we were supposed to start out for
sea yesterday afternoon, we didn’t pull up the
hook until 0630 this morning.
0715 – Mass. End of General Quarters.
“Where are we going?” is the question on
everybody’s lips. Casa Blanca is the answer to the
question; again, only a guess but a good one for
our ship has only one-third of her cargo unloaded
and it would seem the height or the depth of
inefficiency for us to carry back again all this
most important material.
1210 – We sight the Electra sinking. She was
one of our group which, for some strange reason,
ventured out alone last night and caught it early
this morning. At two o’clock we make out on the
shoreline with which we have been running parallel all the way, a beautiful town – Casa Blanca, with
the hills rising directly behind it. Most modern in
design; apartment houses, corner windows, ten
stories high, cream and buff colored buildings.
As we come in behind the breakwater we see
evidence of the naval struggle that took place last
Sunday, melancholy reminders of what might have
been if we were only friends from the beginning.
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
Dr. Walker mentions that four of our transports
were sunk just off this breakwater while unloading
Wednesday after the Armistice had been signed.
About one hour ago just outside the harbor the
sea was littered with our life rafts and sea rations;
tangible evidence of something that was hit.
Tied up alongside of us and the French freighter on the south side is a torpedoed destroyer that
shipped the tin fish just above her waterline. Just
the other side of the little railroad, off our starboard,
is a French destroyer and a battleship burned at the
water’s edge.
Sermon today at Mass. Introduction – eventful week, recollections of things seen and heard,
impressed indelibly on the memory. Each man has
his own recollections. Mine: Saturday
Mass – Benediction, Viaticum – stories –
St. Mark’s Gospel copy shot – Big One – Funeral
Service – Setting. One thing we all share is our
obligation of gratitude to God and remembrance
of the souls in Purgatory.
1900 – Just back from the U. S. S. Hambleton,
destroyer tied up alongside of us. It was a torpedo
that wrecked one of her engine rooms, one fire
room, and the electrician’s room, killing eighteen
and wounding six.
The four ships sunk, Adam, the fireman, tells
me were Rutledge, Scott, Hughes, and Bliss – all
transports. Tanker Winooski that came across the
ocean with us also caught two torpedoes. Scuttlebutt has us unloaded by tomorrow night and then
setting out for home once again.
radio press release.
Churchill announced yesterday that subs hunting in packs off the N. W. Africa coast had paid a
heavy price for their foolhardiness; thirteen were
sunk in the last three days, five yesterday.
Monday, November 16, 1942.
Casa Blanca is indescribably beautiful
54 | in their own words
in the morning sunrise. Lieut. Ellery of the
U. S.S. Hambleton, moored on our portside for
steam and electrical facilities, inquires if I am a
Catholic priest. We make arrangements for Confessions at 1600. I hear them and then I go into the
machinist’s shop to bless the bodies of the three
men taken out of the gaping hole in her portside
that was the engine room until a torpedo hit her
three nights ago at Fedela, where the tanker, the
Winooski, also caught it along with the Rutledge,
the Hughes, the Scott, and the Bliss.
2000 – A 150 English soldiers and merchant
marines come aboard. They were torpedoed on
September 12; lost 2000, 1400 of them Italian
prisoners, when their ship, the Laconia, was
torpedoed. Since then they have been in a prisoners’ camp. Remarks: ”It was music to our ears to
hear the noise of your guns.” “I think that this meal
is all a dream after the stuff they have been giving
us.” “Sir, I have been in the desert for two and a
half years but I never did see such beautiful dive
bombing as on last Sunday morning.” “One youngster, Paddy Kenny from Liverpool, is only fifteen
years old; shipped in the merchant marine.”
“We all thank God that we are here this evening.”
Tuesday, November 17, 1942.
1300 – We carefully nose out of our pocket
in Casa Blanca Harbor as #23 on the list of ships
that have been shoving off all morning. Goodbye
to Casa Blanca without seeing her obvious beauty
at close range; too dangerous to venture ashore.
Hence no leave granted anyone.
Just before we leave the Commander calls me
to pacify Raymond Colle, a French boy of 18 who
is sick with anxiety about what the French will do
to him if he is put ashore. He was a member of the
Army that swung over to General de Gaulle. Now
those who did that are being shot as deserters as
quickly as they are apprehended. Outfitting him in
an American coverall and soldier’s jaunty cap and
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
putting him under the special protection of Lieut.
Brooks quiets him. He will proceed to Port Lyautey
where he will join up with the de Gaullists there.
I meet Major Creedon, one of our guests, and
find that we have a common friend in Fr. Webb of
Woodstock, England fame.
Some English were saved after their ship, the
Laconia, was torpedoed. They would sail by day;
then at night the sub would insist on towing them
back to the spot they had left in order to be picked
up by the French cruiser which the sub had contacted. Men aboard her who hailed the Limeys spoke
perfect English. On one occasion they had to put
four Italians over the side. “It was a case of either
them or us.” Sub apparently saw the operation,
came alongside, challenged them about it, admission; the German remarks; “Good work, after all,
they were only Italians.”
Next an Italian sub contacted them and asked
if they had any Italians aboard their ship when she
was hit. “Yes; they are aft about five miles.” “Thank
you; do you need anything?” “Could use some
water.” Gave them six bottles of water and same
amount of very good wine. The irony of this gesture!
The Laconia lost 1800 souls when she went
down in about twenty minutes even though she was
about 18,000 gross tons.
Wednesday, November 18, 1942.
When daybreak comes we are well on our way
out to sea with land no longer visible. Our small
convoy of eight ships finds its number increased
in the afternoon when three huge Army transports
loom up on the horizon, headed directly for us.
They are former Grace Liners, Uruguay, Argentina
and Brazil; each about 25,000 tons and used exclusively for transporting troops, unlike ourselves who
are combat ships.
55 | in their own words
Thursday and Friday,
November 19 and 20, 1942.
Sea is a bit choppy.
Saturday, November 21, 1942.
Sea really begins to kick up after fuelling of destroyers, one on either side of tanker. During this
evolution we slow down to about five knots per hour.
Sunday, November 22, 1942.
0650 – Mass in Junior Officers’ Wardroom;
crowded with about 70 present.
1000 – General Service in NCO Mess. Largest
attendance since I came on the ship. We are growing. Two the first Sunday total number of non-Catholics, then five, now eighty. I gave them a Catholic
sermon without the word “Catholic.”
1530 – Rosary and Benediction. I am sure Our
Lady is pleased with the mixture of Scotch, Irish,
Cockney and Yankee dialects making answer to the
first part of her Hail Mary.
Ocean really boisterous, in fact boiling today,
whipped by a 20 mile wind that we push up to 35
by our speed. Shrouds are constantly moaning;
everything is securely lashed both inside and on the
weather decks.
Sea is alive with white caps and waves that rise
to a crest of 30 odd feet. Foam lashed off the tops
by the wind forming rainbows on every side of us.
Suddenly a three-decker rainbow colors the sky in
the west where we could see a rain squall a short
while ago.
Ships on every side rolling and pitching
violently. Chenago, aircraft carrier, taking water
on the nose of her flight deck; tanker shipping
water regularly. We, I imagine, are like the ship in
front of us. When her bow plunges down, her stern
rises high and the propeller, apparently angry at being lifted out of her element, lashes out blindly for
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
the sea that wouldn’t stay altogether with her and
white spray is thrown five feet on all sides.
The piece-de-resistance is furnished by the
Chaplain at dinner. We had been sliding a little bit
in our chairs which were not lashed to the deck.
Whenever we felt a move coming, we held onto the
table until the roll stopped, but for this one there
was no warning. Dr. Harris asked the Chaplain for
the bread. The Chaplain had just finished putting
a piece of white turkey in his mouth. With the
other hand he picked up the dish of bread to pass
it to Dr. Walker who had requested it. Then, the
roll. We slid to the portside, three feet, myself and
the tailman, then a long ride of fifteen feet to the
starboard. All had grabbed something by this time
except the Chaplain. I set sail again for the portside,
holding out a loaded dish of bread in one hand
trying to make a sale, and armed with a fork in the
other. “Look at the Chaplain,” I heard as I went
sailing by the customers! Then my ride was over.
Thursday, November 26, 1941 –
Thanksgiving Day, U. S. S. George Clymer.
Thanksgiving at sea. Catholic Mass at 0700.
Standing room only. Congregation – Yanks,
English, Irish, Scotch.
1000 – General Service. Congregation the
same; standing room only.
Dinner. Rough sea like a street on a windy day
when the snow is falling, streaks of snow everywhere, not even a blanket. Streaks of foam; combers breaking all over the face of the ocean. Spray
whipped off the crests lashes me in the face as I
look over the starboard side. Forty winks. Visit to
the wounded. Instructions to two potential converts.
Sermon” “Today, men, is Thanksgiving Day.
This morning we are gathered together here to take
part in a service of gratitude to Almighty God for
the blessings He has bestowed upon us.
“Although at first sight it may seem that out
here on the Atlantic, 1100 miles from home, our
56 | in their own words
little service is slight and inconsequential but that
is not the case. It would be if we were alone but we
are not. By prayer, the strongest of bonds, we are
united to countless other services being held all
over the globe, at home and abroad.
“At home in our own country, the memory of
Thanksgiving is being renewed in every section.
The day has been consecrated to prayer by our
President. So in the majestic cathedrals and modest churches back home, our mothers and fathers,
brothers and sisters, wives and sweethearts and
friends are raising their voices in song and prayers
of Thanksgiving. Perhaps they are worrying,
wondering how we are faring, little dreaming that
their fervent prayers have stood us in good stead.
“Abroad, wherever American soldiers are stationed, on ships of our Navy at sea, divine services
are being held. For the first time in history, Thanksgiving ceremonies are being conducted in Westminster Abbey with an American Chaplain presiding. Aboard ship, we too render homage to God and
join with all those services everywhere. Our prayers
do not ascend to the white throne of God as single,
isolated fragments but as part of a mighty host of
prayer, welling up from hundreds of thousands of
hearts all over the world in Thanksgiving.
“As one of the Officers remarked this morning,
‘We indeed have much to be thankful for.’ The personal blessings that God has conferred upon us, we
alone know their number. What they are is a sacred
secret between us and our Creator, but we do know
that deep down in the sanctuary of our hearts where
we walk alone with God, where no man treads without intruding, that the protecting arm of God was
not foreshortened. One and all of us can look back
upon moments when we were intimately aware that
God was with us, moments either of the remote or
of the recent past – as recently as two months ago
or two weeks ago.
“Some among you now listening to the sound
of my voice looked death in the face for six harrow-
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
ing days and five nights in small lifeboats on sharkinfested waters. Death stared at you and passed you
by – for others. Others among us apparently had a
rendezvous with their last hour when landing upon
Mehdia Beach and after landing upon it. Yet death
stared at them, too, and passed them by – for others.
“Those of us left aboard ship know that we were
enveloped by God’s protection. It was there for all
to see it. Shells whined aft of us, over us, and off
our foc’stle. They fell all around us from coastal
guns. Yet not one hit its target.
“Now go back, for a moment, to that historic
day when we steamed out of Hampton Roads on
our way at last to open up the much-heralded
second front. If any man had ventured to predict
that we would return home with our ship intact,
except for the loss of a few boats, and more wonderful by far, with our crew unharmed, he would have
been labeled ”crazy” for ignoring the percentages
of modern warfare. Yet here we are – ship and
personnel intact.
“The same cannot be said of other ships and
their personnel. If I may be pardoned for injecting
a personal note, I buried sailors from other ships.
I have conducted funerals before as an ordained
ambassador of God but never shall I forget the
service on the top of the hill next to Fort Mehdia.
The Armistice had been signed a few hours before.
A number of bodies were hastily collected. I faced
them, the long row of them. Beyond them I could
see our ship and her sisters peacefully swinging at
anchor out on the broad Atlantic. The time was one
o’clock. The day was beautiful with a clear, blue
sky overhead and warm with Moroccan sunshine.
On my right, 50 Arab prisoners of war who had
been digging the graves. On my left, our own
57 | in their own words
American boys – comrades of the fallen. The
age-old prayers for the dead, always moving in
their simplicity began:
May the Angels receive you into Paradise;
May the Martyrs take thee at thy coming;
May thou, with the once poor Lazarus,
have rest everlasting.
I am the Resurrection and the Life.
He who believeth in me, even though
He be dead, shall live, And everyone who liveth
and believeth in me, Shall not die forever.
Eternal rest grant to them, O Lord,
And may perpetual light shine upon them.
May their souls and the souls of all the
faithful departed, Through the mercy of God,
rest in peace. Amen.
“Taps were sounded and when the last note
had died away, the final blessing was given to our
heroic dead. They lie buried on the crest of that hill
looking out over the broad reaches of the restless
Atlantic, toward country, home, friends, and those
near and dear to them for whom they gave the last
full measure of devotion. God, we may be sure, is
mindful of their sacrifice. He is mindful, too, of
the honored dead of our allies, soldiers, sailors, and
members of the merchant marine. We pause to pay
them all our meed of tribute and remember them in
our prayers where prayers count most, at God’s altar.
“In the words of Scripture, ‘They had girded
themselves, they were valiant men, they were ready
against the morning – they had fought the good fight,
they had finished their course, they kept the faith.’
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
“What of us? We must make certain that we,
too, have girded ourselves with the double bond of
loyalty to God and to country that we may be valiant
men in the discharge of our duty to both, that we
may be ready against the morning when the white
tremendous daybreak of eternity dawns for us. We
must also bend every effort to fight the good fight,
to finish our course, to keep the faith. Then, and
only then, are we making the best possible return
to Almighty God for the blessings and favors that
He has showered upon us. He will know that our
thanksgiving is not an empty, hollow phrase, but
a sincere, honest expression of gratitude that rises
straight from hearts of men whose lives are a living
confirmation of what they profess with their lips.”
Monday, November 30, 1942
HOME, NORFOLK, VA.!!! Minus four ships
that went East with us – they are now filed in Davy
Jones’s locker. Thank you, Lord, for bringing us
safely back again. We, indeed, have much to thank
you for! Thank you, Lord, again, for a safe 7000
mile round trip.
John P. Foley, S.J.
13
Lieutenant Commander, USN
13 John P. Foley, World War II typescript diary, 1942 – 1945. Archives of the Society of Jesus of New England,
College of the Holy Cross, Worcester, MA.
58 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
battlefield promotion
The story of a signal honor bestowed by General MacArthur upon Father Thomas
Shanahan, S.J., was related recently to the Most Rev. John F. O’Hara, C.S.C., Military Delegate
for the Army and Navy Vicariate, by a chaplain who had just arrived from Australia.
F
ather Shanahan, a native of Waterbury and
a member of the class of 1918 at Holy Cross
College, originally reported wounded in the
bombing of Manila, actually went as chaplain of
the ship “Mactan” bearing the wounded from the
Philippines to Australia. On the eve of the fall of
Manila, General Douglas MacArthur, Commanderin-Chief of the American and Filipino forces in the
Philippines, was very anxious to evacuate all the
men wounded during the course of the war up until
that date. Despite great difficulties this was finally
accomplished. The interisland steamship “Mactan”
was converted into a Red Cross ship. A number
of doctors and nurses were assembled and the
wounded transferred late on the eve of New Year’s
Day. At the last moment it was discovered that no
chaplain had been appointed.
This part of the story has been supplied by the
four Filipino nurses who are at present in New
York, having come all the way with the wounded
men from Australia. They were among the nurses
sent to the “Mactan” to take care of the wounded in
the course of the voyage to Australia. When it was
discovered that no chaplain had been obtained, it
seems that Father Shanahan’s name was suggested
by everyone who was consulted. According to the
nurses, he had been very active during the bombing of Manila, especially in the port area where the
14 “MacArthur Honors Jesuit,” Woodstock Letters, 71, 91–93.
59 | in their own words
bombing was most intense, and his name was well
known to the military personnel especially of the
Medical Corps. He was accordingly asked to
accompany the “Mactan” as chaplain. He actually
had about five minutes’ preparation for the journey,
just long enough to call Father Hurley, his superior,
and obtain his permission to leave.
When the trip was over and the wounded had
been taken care of in Australia, Father Shanahan consulted the Jesuit Vice-Provincial in Melbourne with
regard to his future duties. It was agreed between
them that Father Shanahan should make application to become a regular army chaplain. This he did.
The regulation papers were made out. When General
MacArthur arrived in Australia he found a great deal
of desk work awaiting him. Some new commissions
had been held up pending his approval. In going
through them he found the regular form made out
but waiting his signature, commissioning Father
Shanahan as first lieutenant in the army of the United
States. General MacArthur read the name and then
inquired, “Isn’t this the Father Shanahan who was
chaplain of the ‘Mactan’?” On being assured that he
was the same man, General MacArthur crossed out
the words “First Lieutenant” on the commission and
said, “Make Father Shanahan a captain.”
The Catholic News, December 5, 1942
14
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
darwin’s dead
During the Second World War, the Japanese flew 64 raids on Darwin and 33 raids on
other targets in Northern Australia. From the first raid on 19 February 1942 until the last
on 12 November 1943, Australia and its allies lost about 900 people.
T
he Courier-Mail of Brisbane, Australia,
reproduced a poem of tribute to Darwin’s
dead, written by Father Anthony G. Carroll,
S.J., U. S. Army chaplain, and read by him at a
memorial service to
fallen men at an advanced Allied base. Father
Carroll served as a professor of chemistry at
Boston College, Chestnut Hill, Mass., prior to
entering the service.
poem in memory of darwin’s dead
On Darwin’s shore our bodies lie,
And o’er our graves the soft winds sigh,
And whisper through the star-filled night,
The story of the silver blight
That struck us from a wing-blacked sky.
Know ye who guard the slopes nearby –
Know ye who overhead still fly –
Till victory, with you we fight,
And not till then, will bid good-bye
On Darwin’s shore.
But death will never break the tie
That binds us all – we did not die
To idly gaze from some great height
On Darwin’s shore.
Adapted from The Catholic News,
15
August 1, 1942
15 Anthony G. Carroll, “Poem in Memory of Darwin’s Dead,” Woodstock Letters, 71, 345.
60 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
worship in wartime
in 1944 I was a military chaplain at Finschhafen, New Guinea, where a teeming Army
base stretched for some 15 miles along the coast. On both sides of the single road, built
out of coral by Army engineers, were acres of tents, mess halls, headquarters, shops, offices
and a hospital. Every time a six-by-six truck rolled by during the dry season, it churned clouds
of white dust into food and bedding. The 33rd Division was bivouacked there, waiting for the
word to move on Biak, Halmahera and the Philippines. There was also a Navy base for
PT boats and a landing strip for the Air Corps.
S
ometimes we saw native gangs working under the surveillance of Australians. Once in a
while, a native family would come out of the
jungle: Daddy striding ahead with his spear and his
“Marys” strung out behind him, carrying the children and household luggage. But the base itself was
largely populated by Army service troops: ordnance,
signal, quartermaster.
Under tropical sun or in the deep mud of the
rainy season, they struggled to empty huge crates
of equipment from the States: generators, refrigerators, switchboards, artillery, ammunition, food,
trucks, ambulances, jeeps, weapons carriers,
motorized field kitchens, ducks, tanks and bulldozers. These were assembled for shipment to the
combat areas where Gen. Douglas MacArthur’s
armies were successfully carrying out their islandhopping strategies.
At the height of its activities, there were upwards of a hundred thousand men on the base.
Almost all of them would have given anything to be
out of the Army and back home where they would
be free to pick up the pieces of an education or a
career, free to walk downtown without a pass or
drive a car without a trip-ticket, free to take the girl
61 | in their own words
to whom they wrote poignant letters out for
an evening and free to do as they pleased rather
than what the sergeant ordered. Of course, they
also wanted to be out of New Guinea – away forever
from palm trees and jungle rot and pestilential
insects, from ceaseless, enervating heat and
cascading downpours of rain.
Under such conditions, it was up to the chaplain to be more than a jovial, back-slapping morale
officer. Somehow he had to counsel and exemplify
patience and fortitude. He had to inject meaning
into this baffling enigma called war. So when I set
about building a chapel, I gave thought to its symbolism. I knew that as much as anything I might
say within it, the chapel’s shape, size and furnishings could be counted on to create an attitude.
The building, therefore, was fan-shaped so that
the men sat in a half-circle with their attention focused on the altar. No posts blocked their vision or
impeded their awareness of one another as mutual
witnesses to their faith and collaborating worshipers of their common Father. An altar table made
from New Guinea mahogany was supported by two
brass 90-millimeter shell cases that rested in turn
on a 500 pound block also of local mahogany. Both
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
the Army and New Guinea were thereby
symbolized by this table of sacrifice.
Candlesticks, shaped out of brass shimstock,
bore the emblem of the Ordnance Department to
which the men of this outfit belonged. The missal stand was made of heavy-gauge brass wire with
a hammer and a wrench, typical Ordnance tools,
worked into its back and crossed so as to become
the Chi-Rho symbol. The holy water stoup, fashioned from a shell case, had a sprinkler with a
handle of New Guinea mahogany and a head of
Army brass.
The thurible was a triumph of resourceful
ingenuity – a perforated jeep cylinder swinging
from bicycle chains. When the Ordnance men, who
worked on engines and called themselves greasemonkeys, saw and smelled the fragrant smoke
rising in worship from this commonplace item of
their everyday lives, they began to understand that
the Mass was not a spectacle they watched, but an
action in which they could have a part.
The tabernacle, measuring 16 by 16 inches,
suggested the troops’ pyramidal tents, which were
16 by 16 feet. It was covered with a veil resembling
a tent-fly so that they might remember that
“the Word became flesh and pitched His tent
among us.”
Looking down on this sanctuary and these
worshipers was the crucified Christ, carved from
rosewood by a non-professional but talented
corporal. The figure on the cross was robed and
crowned – a reminder that Good Friday was followed by Easter, and so the disciples of Christ may
confidently look forward to rest after labor, joy
after sorrow. Since the canopy was lined with red
silk taken from salvage parachutes, the sanctuary, illuminated by “sealed-beam” jeep headlights,
was suffused in red---the color of blood, of life, of
devoted love.
The liturgy was still in Latin in those days, so
I introduced an English “Dialogue Mass,” but it
62 | in their own words
turned out to be a clumsy and unsatisfying arrangement. When I greeted the congregation with
“Dominus vobiscum,” the leader shouted, “The
Lord be with you,” and the congregation’s response
was directed to him, not to me. But it would have
been precipitous at that time, when liturgical considerations were chiefly rubrical and rubrics had
almost the authority of the Ten Commandments,
to celebrate facing the people. It would have gotten
me a reputation as an extremist, even a faddist, and
in the climate of that era it might have the led the
congregation to think that the external conduct
of worship is more important than the interior
dispositions one brings to it.
We had only a few weeks in which to enjoy our
chapel before the battalion was alerted for movement. However, the C.O. ordered that the altar and
its appurtenances be crated and taken with us. Then,
although we were service troops that had never
expected to see combat, we hit the Philippine beach
at Lingayen where we dug foxholes and huddled
under enemy artillery fire. Some days later, when a
Regimental Combat Team had pushed the Japanese
back to Baguio and the area had been secured, we
retrieved our gear.
But we moved so often in the following months
that it was impossible to give the altar even a
temporary home. When the peace treaty was at last
signed aboard the Missouri, Cardinal Francis J.
Spellman, the Military Vicar, came to Manila, and
with 6,500 troops participating, he offered a Mass
of thanksgiving on our altar set up in Rizal Stadium. Then the altar was crated once again and made
the long journey through the Panama Canal to New
York and then to Boston College. For a while, it
served as a small chapel, but the mounting enrollments prompted by the “G.I. Bill” called for alterations that displaced the chapel.
Nowadays, the altar is the permanent centerpiece of the World War II display in the U.S. Army
Chaplains’ Museum at Fort Monmouth in New
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
Jersey, an hour’s drive from New York City. This
aging chaplain would like to think that the men
who labored devotedly to build and adorn that altar
go on occasion to the museum to see it. Where are
they now, he wonders: Bill Graham, Tip Maher,
Bob Hauser, Clarence Staudenmayer, Bob Carracher, Steve Brennan, Chris Spicuzza, Len Stack,
Tom Jones, Johnny Mangiaracina, Sammy Shapiro,
Jimmy Scannell, Leo Spinelli, Tony Galluci, Ben
Gorski…? Wherever they are, whatever altars they
gather about now, may the memory of those days
and of their dedicated efforts to provide a worthy
setting for their encounters with the Most High
sustain and comfort them.
But what happened to the New Guinea chapel
itself? The last thing I saw on that morning after
Christmas in 1944, when we left the area in a
frantic rush for the ship taking us to the Luzon
invasion, was the steep pitch of the chapel roof.
In the years that followed, I wondered if it were
still standing. Could it possibly have survived the
termites and the typhoons of more than 40 tropical
years? Perhaps after we left, the Aussies made it
into a pub. Maybe the native people used it for their
sing-sings. Or perhaps, it simply collapsed one
night when the high winds blew.
One day this spring, I looked down from an Air
Niugini 727 on the gray-green hills around New
Guinea’s Port Moresby and felt again the twinge of
distaste mixed with apprehension that this island
had always inspired in me. I had never been able to
banish the feeling that there was something sinister
in that atmosphere, something invisibly malevolent
toward those who were not children of the jungle.
I remembered, too, the miseries of the
Salamaua campaign and thought I could pick out
the thread of the Kokoda Trail along the Owen
Stanley Range, one of the highest mountain ranges
in the world. In 1942, the Japanese, having landed
at Buna on the east coast, swarmed up that trail and
down the other side until they almost reached Port
63 | in their own words
Moresby from which they would have had a clear
shot at Australia. But the 32nd American Division,
a work-horse division from Wisconsin, and the 7th
Australian Division had landed and attacked the
Japanese head-on. They pushed them up, up, up,
over the top again, and down, down, down back
into Buna.
According to legend, Gen. Robert L. Eichelberger, commanding the 32nd, then wired to General
MacArthur: “I can spit in Buna, but I can’t take it.”
MacArthur is said to have wired back: “You will take
it, or leave your body.” He took it, of course, but the
price was enormous: thousands dead or wounded.
The survivors endured malaria, dengue fever, scrub
typhus, dysentery, psychological exhaustion and
cold---they had left Port Moresby in tropical uniforms but needed winter clothing at the summit
of the range. From a purely military standpoint, it
was one of the finest exploits of the war. We should
never have heard the end of it if it had been done
by the Marines. But the human cost overpowers the
imagination. I remember Pope Paul VI pleading before the United Nations General Assembly in 1965:
“Jamais plus la guérre, jamais encore!” (“No more
war! War never again!”)
As the plane came in for the Finschhafen
landing, I peered intently at the empty harbor and
the silent landscape. I was looking for something,
anything, familiar. They had told me that because
Finschhafen was a malarial area, it had not been
developed as Moresby, Lae and other provincial
centers had been. So, I had guessed, the place
would look pretty much as it did when I last saw it.
When we set out from the Lutheran Mission
Hospital, however, I could recognize only one feature---that single road along the coast, built of coral
by our engineers and now somewhat macadamized.
Dr. Hershey, the American volunteer physician at
the hospital, had generously loaned us his car. I had
to drive on the left and use a stick-shift instead of
the automatic transmission that has become more
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
familiar in recent years. But it didn’t matter;
we met almost no traffic.
We dipped into the hollow where Base
Headquarters had been, but saw only thick underbrush and mature palm trees. Then we reached the
level stretch where I was sure the 900 men of the
Ninth Ordnance Battalion had had their tents and
shops. This must be the place. This was where I
would find my chapel. But there was nothing, not
even a bit of old metal rusting away under the gently waving fronds of jungle vegetation. I suppose
the native people had carried away whatever they
could use after we left, and anything else simply
disintegrated.
We stopped to explore a bit as best we could under the fierce midday sun---how had we ever done
such heavy work in such a climate?---but I could not
identify with certainty even the chapel site. I asked
questions at a general store near what had once
been the Navy Base and also at the Lutheran minor
seminary but only got a wondering and regretful
shaking of heads.
We drove on, but I knew we had gone too far
when we reached Scarlet Beach. (The Japanese had
attempted a landing there and had been repulsed
with so much bloodshed that the place was given
this grisly name. That is what it is still called,
though the natives probably don’t know why.)
We went back to search again, scanning every
foot of the way. Nothing. If I had heard the kookaburra bird cawing its raucous laugh, I would have
thought the triumphant jungle was mocking me.
With sympathetic perception, my traveling companion and Boston College colleague, George Lawlor,
S.J., sensed my disappointment. In a quiet, let’sbe-reasonable tone, he said: “You fellows came out
here to establish peace, didn’t you?”
“I suppose we did,” I answered.
“Well,” he said, “Look around you.”
The breeze soughed softly through the palm
trees, and I broke into a slow grin. It was true. The
Japanese were gone. We Americans had gone. The
Australians had gone. The country belonged, as it
should, to the people of New Guinea. Mission accomplished. So if my chapel had vanished, it didn’t
matter. I took a last look at the serene and silent
bush, said a quick prayer for all the comrades, living and dead, of those days and drove back to the
hospital. Dr, Hershey, with rare delicacy and kindness, thanked me for what we had done, more than
40 years earlier, for New Guinea.
William J. Leonard, S.J. 16
16 William J. Leonard, “Worship in Wartime,” America, (August 8, 1987). Reprinted with permission of America Press, Inc.
c 1987.
64 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
a parable of redemption
i don’t remember that i thought of world war ii, while we were fighting it, as just
another episode in the history of salvation. the convulsion it brought into all our
lives was too gigantic. And if we had been able to grasp the full dimensions of the horror at
that time – in particular the demonic things associated with names like Dachau and Auschwitz,
Bataan and Lubyanka Prison – it would have seemed such a sickening concentration of misery
that we could not have endured it.
I
t was not a pretty time to be alive. We had
known the bread lines of the depression, and
as the thirties drew to a close we heard Mussolini ranting in the Piazza Venezia in Rome and
saw the stormtroopers goosestepping into Prague
and Vienna. The lights went out, then, all over the
world; it was the scorched earth of the Ukraine and
the Nine Hundred Days of Leningrad; it was disaster at Dunkirk and death raining from the skies
over London; it was, finally, Pearl Harbor, Anzio,
and Omaha Beach.
This convulsion, they said, was the birth pangs
of a new order, the kind of thing that happens
about every five hundred years. But this was too
cataclysmic – no new order could be worth that
much wretchedness. One claps his hand to his
mouth and falls silent in the presence of an evil
so hideous, so enormous.
My office [86th Infantry Division, Camp Livingston, Alexandria, La., in 1944] was in the rear
of the chapel building, quite adequate except there
were no screens in the windows, and after dark all
the bugs in Louisiana came in to see me, including
some revolting specimens at which I used to stare
in disbelief. Almost always I had a stream of men
with problems. It had been decided, for instance,
65 | in their own words
that the Air Corps and the Army Special Training
Program (ASTP) were overloaded, and many hundreds of men in these relatively pleasant outfits had
been assigned to the infantry.
A more disgruntled and resentful crowd I had
never seen. Some of them were in their middle and
late thirties; they found that long hikes and crawling on their bellies gave them anguish in areas
they had never been conscious of before. Some
were kids who had enlisted in the ASTP believing
that they would be sent to medical school or graduate studies. Some had highly specialized skills for
which, with reason, they foresaw no use in a rifle
company. Very occasionally I was able to help by
arranging a transfer to the medics or the signal
battalion, but for the most part all I could do was
provide a sympathetic ear; they were infantry, and
that was that.
There was one exception. A colonel sent for me
one morning to tell me about a lad who refused to
fire a rifle or throw a grenade.
“He says he’s a pacifist,” the colonel snapped.
“I want you to set him straight, and if you don’t
succeed, I’ll court-martial him and send him to
Leavenworth.”
“Maybe he’s sincere,” I offered.
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
“I don’t believe it. He enlisted in the army,
didn’t he? He thought he’d get a free ride through
medical school, and now that bubble has burst, so
he’s taking the easy way out. You think I’m hard,
don’t you? Look, Father, I was at Pearl Harbor the
day the Japanese hit us. I want to pay off those beggars, and I have no illusions about them. They’ve
been tough and they will be tough. If we’re going to
survive, we have to be tough, and that boy will have
to do his part. Knock some sense into his head.”
I saluted and went out with a real worry. I
respected the colonel as a man and an officer and
understood his attitude, but the thing wasn’t that
simple. When the boy in question reported at my
office my anxiety grew. He was a blocky, muscular
fellow, no sissy. He spoke slowly and softly and
without emotion.
“I don’t think it’s right to kill,” he said
“Then why did you enlist?” I asked.
“They told me I would go to medical school.”
“Are you afraid of combat?”
“No, I’m quite willing to go as a medic.”
I gave him all the classic arguments for the
legitimacy of a just war. I reminded him that we
were being attacked. I pictured as vividly as I could
the consequences of the Axis victory over us. I
quoted all the theologians I knew. After our talk,
feeling that there must be other considerations I
had overlooked, I wrote for help to a theologian at
home. The theologian’s answer, alas, was an appeal to paternalism that even in those days sounded
very hollow to me. By what right, I was to ask the
soldier, did he oppose his immature opinion to the
considered judgment of his country’s leaders? I
never asked the question. I was afraid it might be
the same question that was being put to young men
in Germany about that time.
We talked, however, far into the night on several occasions, and I found that I could not shake
him. A very small thing finally convinced me of
his sincerity. We were sitting in my office, very
66 | in their own words
late, and my lights must have been almost the only
ones burning in the whole camp. The walls and
the ceiling were crawling with insects, and I had
been killing the most annoying of them. Then one
particularly nauseous centipede landed on his arm
and started for his face. Very gently he brushed the
repulsive thing away and went on talking.
Next morning I reported to the colonel that I
was thoroughly convinced of the boy’s sincerity and
recommended that he be transferred to the medical
battalion. The colonel glared at me, told me I had
greatly disappointed him, and said he would make
sure that the lad got twenty years in Leavenworth.
But long afterward, when I met the division again
in the Philippines, the young soldier was with
the medics.
It was after 6 P.M. when we were dropped at an
Ordnance company in San Fernando [in the Philippines with General MacArthur’s forces at the end
of the Luzon campaign, 1945] where we not only
got a temporary repair job done on the jeep but also
wrangled a square meal and a much-needed bath.
Alas, the jeep stalled twice more before we reached
the outskirts of Manila, and then, because of rumors
that Rizal Avenue had been mined, Fr. Ortiz took us
through side streets to the gates of the University
of Santo Tomas. During the Japanese occupation,
American and European civilians had been interned
either here or at another camp at Los Banos about
30 miles south, still in enemy hands. It was now
dark, and the MPs didn’t even want even to hear of
letting us in, but Fr. Ortiz’s golden leaves came in
handy, and we pushed the jeep through the gates.
The ex-prisoners were enjoying their first movie in
three years, and it would have been difficult to pick
out any individual in the crowd, so we walked on
and suddenly ran into Archbishop O’Doherty, the
archbishop of Manila, with whom we had a long
conversation. He told us of all the maneuvering
and chicanery he had to use to avoid being forced
into a public approval of the Japanese regime, and
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
of his many narrow escapes from imprisonment in
Santiago. At last I said, ”Your Excellency, where are
the Jesuits?”
“Father,” he replied, “over behind that building,
which used to be a girls’ dormitory, you’ll find a
big chicken coop. That’s where all the priests
are living.”
Well, in that shanty we found Fr. Hurley, the
superior, Fr. Vincent Kennally, later bishop of the
Caroline Islands, Frs. John and Vincent McFadden,
Fr. Anthony Keane, Br. Abrams, and a number of
Columbans, Oblates and Maryknollers. It was a
wonderful reunion, particularly since Fr. Dugan
had told us horrible stories he had heard by grapevine about atrocities involving Fr. Hurley and Fr.
Keane. It was glorious to find that the stories were
simply not true. There were plenty of horrors without those.
In the middle of the excitement [the liberation
of Manila] a priest came up to me with his hand
extended. “Hello, Bill.”
I was embarrassed. “Er-hello, Father,” I said
uncertainly.
“Don’t know me, eh?”
I looked again, but nothing registered.
“I’m sorry.”
“Buck Ewing!” he said.
I was staggered. The last time I had seen the
67 | in their own words
it not been for the loyal devotion of the Filipinos in
the city, who threw bundles of food over the walls to
the prisoners, there would have been few survivors
in Santo Tomas.
The erstwhile prisoners told us how respectful
the men of the First Cavalry had been when they
first came into the camp, and I thought I knew why.
I myself felt a sense of awe in the presence of these
Americans who had undergone so much. Somehow
the word internees (a clumsy word in any case) had
always held for me an exclusively masculine connotation; I was shocked when I saw women and girls
among them. And the babies! Some of them had
been born inside the wretched compound; others
were so young when they went in that they never
knew anything else.
Fr. Ewing told us of a conversation he had
overheard between a little boy and his father.
“Daddy, when we get out I’ll stand in the
breakfast line and get your food for you.”
“But there won’t be any breakfast line
outside, son.”
“No breakfast line? Well, how can we eat?”
All this time I was looking expectantly about,
and finally I asked, “Where is Fr. Doucette?”
Fr. Doucette was a New Englander like myself;
his family and mine had been friends for years.
They told me he was living in another building,
and Brother Abrams volunteered to get him.
“Don’t tell him who it is,” I said.
Meanwhile we went out to push the jeep a
little closer to the shanty, and while we were at
it, Fr. Doucette arrived. He peered at me in the
darkness, and I had to tell him who I was. It was
a most delightful meeting for us both. I gave him
all the news I had from his family and from the
province, and he spoke of his confinement in
Santiago Prison.
Because he had directed the observatory at our
college, the Ateneo de Manila, the Japanese were
convinced that he was working secretly with the
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
American navy and had imprisoned him. Though
he showed no bad effects, I suspected that he had
had more to put up with than he told us about.
The great loss for him, he said in his self-effacing
manner, was the observatory; he had managed to
remove and hide the lens of the telescope, but
everything else was gone.
Back at the university, Bill and I went on listening to stories. We heard how the prisoners, first
confined in 1942, had set up a government for
themselves, and how they had built on the campus the shanties and the lean-tos, the only shelter
they were permitted to have. Months wore on and
turned into years. Hopes that flamed high at first
began to burn low. But in September 1944, the
first American planes appeared over the city; the
prisoners ran out of their huts and cheered and
hugged one another until the Japanese threatened
to shoot them. But October passed, and November, and December, bringing no further raids, and
hope waned once more. Then came that wonderful
night in early February when the prisoners heard a
column of tanks in the street outside. They thought
nothing of it since the Japanese often moved their
armor from place to place. But suddenly the leading
tank swung in and butted its snub nose against the
campus gates, and they screamed, “Americans!”
The First Cavalry had sent in a spearhead of
only 300 men, but they took the gate and swarmed
in. The prisoners rushed on them, heedless of
Japanese snipers in upper stories of the buildings,
flinging their arms about them until the soldiers
themselves urged them to go back for safety’s sake.
It is probably farfetched and I shall be accused
of preaching when I say it, but when I think of the
Redemption, especially the Resurrection of Christ,
or of his coming again at the end of time to “wipe
away all tears from our eyes,” as the Book of Revelation says, it’s actually this story that returns to my
mind. The long waiting at Santo Tomas---longer
because no one could say when it would end---the
perplexity, the hunger, the need to bolster others’
courage at the same time your own is languishing,
and then the swift, incredible release, the mad joy,
the freedom, the friends, the food, the going home--it seems to me the best parable in my experience
for what will happen when Our Lord returns to
claim his own.
William J. Leonard, S.J. 17
17 William J. Leonard, “A Parable of Redemption,” Company, (Winter, 1989), 10-13. Reprinted with permission of Company,
c 1989.
68 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
pastoral ministry
Fassberg, Germany 18 April 1949. Things have been the busiest ever. To start with we have about
3,000 men on this post, and occasionally due to illness of another Catholic Chaplain in Celle,
25 miles away, I have to cover both posts in cases of crash. Sundays we have three Masses: at 0900,
1100 and 1600 hours. Mondays and Thursdays I teach in the local British school, where I have a
catechism class of about six children, ranging in age from five to seven, mostly of Irish origin.
E
very evening we have Mass at 5:30 p.m. and
there is the usual number of converts to care
for. Now they have found out I can give priests’
retreats, so for the past three months I have been
flying once a month to some part of Europe to give
a Day of Recollection. The last one was in Frankfurt,
where Bishop Muentsch, the Papal Delegate, attended
and made some flattering remarks. So it seems I
may be called on regularly for this type of work also.
Then we have taken on the local orphanage at Celle,
where there are a minimum of 50 and a maximum
of 96 children, all victims of the war and the shifting of population. I have a “Big Brother” project in
operation whereby one GI takes on the responsibility
of one child (or more if he sees fit) and acts as a Big
Brother. Fortunately, I have the assistance of some
adults in Celle who speak English and do my interpreting for me. Gradually the lot of these children is
being changed due to American generosity. They now
have a second suit of clothes; their quarters have been
DDT’d and their flour sacks have been replaced by
regular white sheets. They still need more shoes and
underwear; but these have been promised.
Our latest project is a pilgrimage to Rome on
the 25th of April, when 44 of our lads will go to see
the Holy Father and see Rome for 3 days. On the 17th
of June I hope to lead a group to Lourdes to visit the
Grotto. The trip to Rome will go in two sections of 22
each, plus a five man crew for the C-47…..Here the atmosphere is strictly pagan. The nearest Catholic priest
who speaks English is either at Hamburg or Bremen
– a good three hours by jeep. I try to make it every two
weeks but the punishment to my aching back is starting to be just too much….
And now I must hurry off to start the 5:30 p.m.
Mass. Since the mission, the attendance has picked
up somewhat. Maybe when we have dependents a
little nearer, it will go up still further. By the way, one
of my parishoners is the film actress, Constance Bennett, a Catholic-of-sorts, who attends Mass regularly
on Sundays, and every so often brings her husband,
Colonel Coulter, the Commanding Officer of the post,
with her. She is now planning to bring their children
(two of his and two of hers by former marriages) on
the post. That will complicate things somewhat, since
I am now writing to someone out near Hollywood for
an opinion on the status of her present marriage. If
I did not have so many marriage cases to handle, my
life would be fairly serene. And most of these are
in the textbooks only in the barest outlines, without
the complications.
Time is up…
Thomas P. Fay, S.J.
18
Captain, U. S. Army
18 Letter from Thomas P. Fay, S.J. to Fr. Provincial, April 18, 1949. Military Chaplains (WWII) Files.
Archives of the Society of Jesus of New England, College of the Holy Cross, Worcester, MA. Used with permission.
69 | in their own words
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
In Their Own Words
the “padre” reports
During these days of emergency the wheels of our government are moving rapidly
along the highway of National Defense. The countless natural resources of the country, the
many plants of industry, even the thoughts and the everyday lives of our people are being tuned
to the vital work of preparedness. Our manner of national life, it is reported, is seriously threatened by death-dealing forces. That democracy, as we know it, may survive depends solely on the
completeness and thoroughness of our preparation.
I
t is not surprising, then, to learn that the
strength of our armed forces has more than
doubled within the past twelve months. Each
unit and organization of the army and navy has
been authorized to increase the number of its
personnel to wartime strength. Accordingly, the
Auxiliary Bishop of the Military Ordinariate of the
Catholic Church in the United States, Most Reverend John F. O’Hara, C.S.C., has appealed to the
secular clergy and to religious orders and congregations for two hundred and seventy-five priests to
serve the armed forces as Chaplains.
To one who is familiar with the history of the
Society of Jesus the generous response given by
the Superiors of the Society to the call of Bishop
O‘Hara was expected. Saint Ignatius in his day
witnessed the beginning of a tremendous disaster.
He saw the life of the Church of Christ threatened
as the reformers led millions of souls away from
God and revealed religion. To win these souls back
to God, Ignatius founded the Society of Jesus. Four
hundred years later, the Society of Jesus of New
England has placed four of her sons on active duty
with the armed forces. Six other Jesuit priests of the
New England province who have Commissions in
70 | in their own words
the Reserve Corps are waiting for the call to duty
from the Chief of Chaplains.
The Priest in the Army
It is the purpose of these pages to give our
friendly readers a brief picture of the work of the
priest in the army. The words, “Army Chaplain,”
have little or no meaning to many people. For most
people who look upon the priest as a man of peace
fail to recognize for him a proper place among
those who carry on the work of wars and battles.
It is in the Army Regulations that we find the
following summary of the definite duties of the
Chaplain: namely,
a. to provide opportunity for public religious
worship;
b. to supply spiritual ministration, moral
counsel and guidance to all under military
jurisdiction;
c. to be the exponent of the benefits of religion
as an aid to right thinking and acting;
d. to foster the building of personal character
and contentment by example and instruction.
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
The chaplain is an officer on the staff of the
Commanding Officer and it is his duty to advise
the Commanding Officer in matters pertaining to
public religious observances and with respect to the
morality and morale of the command. “In the performance of his duties the chaplain is accountable
solely to the commanding officer. Ultimate responsibility for matters of a religious and moral nature
within a command devolves upon the commanding
officer as completely as do strict military matters.”
(Army Regulations). The chaplain, whatever may
be his rank, is addressed as “chaplain.” Yet due to
a custom of long standing, the Catholic chaplain is
addressed as “padre,” and the non-Catholic chaplain as “chaplain.” The initial grade of the chaplain
is that of First Lieutenant with the pay and allowances of that grade. The chaplain may be promoted
as high as the grade of Lieutenant Colonel. The
Chief of Chaplains alone attains the rank of full
Colonel which he retains only during his four-year
tenure of office.
Such is the clear and concise statement of the
work of the chaplain in the army. To the priest it
is not a new message or commission; it is but the
continuance of the work for which he was ordained.
The priest of the Catholic Church labors for the
salvation of souls, and while in the service of the
armed forces the circumstances of his work may
vary, the labor remains unchanged.
The “Padre” Reports for Duty
On the third day of last June, the writer of these
pages, a Jesuit of the New England province, reported for a tour of active duty with the Regular Army at
Fort Riley, Kansas. Rich in its traditions which date
back to days of the War between the States, Fort Riley is the largest Cavalry school in the whole world.
Furthermore, it has been blessed many times by the
labors of not a few exemplary and zealous priests.
Recalling to mind this history of Fort Riley, the
newly arrived “padre” made an honest effort to give
71 | in their own words
little thought to the temperature of the warm summer day and lost no time in making acquaintance
with his new surroundings. The work involved in
the obtaining and the arranging and the settlingdown in the living quarters brought forth a few
prayers of sympathy for the ‘Father Minister’ of
other days. Soon after arrival the chapel was visited
and it was found to be a beautiful edifice worthy in
every respect to be the Dwelling of the King of all
kings. Under the title and patronage of Saint Mary,
it was dedicated in the year 1938. It occupies a site
on the reservation where for many years former
chaplains and visiting priests from St. Mary’s
College had offered the Sacrifice of the Mass.
The “Padre” at Work
Among the first duties of the chaplain during
his first days on an Army Post is the work of numbering the members of his flock. If he is to attain
any evident results of his work, he must learn the
names of those who are Catholic. Although the total
strength of the personnel at the Fort was almost
four thousand, only about six hundred were Catholic. Two Masses were celebrated on the following
Sunday, and the six hundred had dwindled to about
two hundred. This small number convinced the
chaplain that he should make every effort to emphasize as often as possible the attendance at Holy
Mass on Sundays and holydays of obligation. The
fulfillment of the obligation of attending Mass has
ever been considered a sign of a practical Catholic.
The hearing of Holy Mass is one of the chief means
of obtaining the grace of God. Since we need God’s
grace for the performance of good works, it is not
surprising to discover that the Catholic who fails to
fulfill the obligation of hearing Mass, fails also in
the fulfillment of many other obligations. Excuses
offered will be legion, but seldom has any soldier a
reason for his failure to attend the Sacrifice of the
Mass on Sunday. Only amid the most extraordinary
circumstances would any commanding officer deny
�protect the health of the soldier. The words of the
chaplain should be the natural supplement of the
army regulations, for he offers the true motives for
the complete and proper solution of this question,
namely, the teaching of revealed religion which
alone explains the supernatural life of man.
Personal Interviews
Because of its most tangible results a very
comforting work is the personal interview between
the chaplain and the soldier. It is during the time
of this interview that the soldier realizes, usually
for the first time in his life, that he is talking to one
who has vowed to take a personal interest in him
and in his welfare. Oftentimes the raw recruit soon
forgets the shadows of an unfortunate background;
to the chaplain he reveals his story, his thoughts,
his aims and ambitions, for in the priest the soul of
youth recognizes the highest and most noble things
of life. The chaplain in the person of Christ stands
on the same level as the young man, but before the
interview is over, another soul is lifted up to Christ.
The explanation of all this is found in the
proper interpretation of the circumstances which
surround the young man. Accustomed to a regimental form of existence, he feels that he has been
herded and like members of a herd, he feels that he
must act and perhaps even think only as the herd
acts or thinks. He is very likely to lose his sense of
individuality. At times he may look upon himself
as a mere cog in a huge machine. In the personal
interview the chaplain has the golden opportunity
of assuring the young man that he is an individual,
that he has his own life to live, and for that reason
he must be held responsible for his thoughts and
actions. It is the opinion of the writer of these pages
that the personal interview offers the chaplain one
of the greatest natural means of accomplishing
good for the youthful soldier.
72 | in their own words
VSI
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
Catholic News
On a large Post such as Fort Riley it is possible to have a personal interview with only a small
percentage of the men. Nevertheless, the personal
contact is made through the weekly letter which the
chaplain sends to every Catholic soldier. More than
six hundred copies are mimeographed each week
and sent to the individual each Friday morning. The
letter is called Catholic News of the Week, and in it
are found the explanation of a timely truth of our
faith, the program of Catholic activities for the coming week, and any items of news which may help
and encourage the soldier to lead a life in accordance with the teachings of his faith. The Catholic
News of the Week has been received with enthusiasm by the enlisted men, and it is the sincere desire
of the chaplain that it will accomplish the purpose
of its existence.
Military Field Mass
Sunday, September the eighth, is a day which
will live long in the memory of Catholics and
non-Catholics at Fort Riley. The President of the
United States had proclaimed the day to be a Day
of National Prayer. Our observance consisted in
the celebration of a Military Field Mass in the Post
Stadium. The chaplain celebrated the Mass, and the
sermon was preached by the Most Reverend Francis
A. Thill, D.D., Bishop of Concordia. After the Mass
the Bishop was the celebrant for Benediction of the
Most Blessed Sacrament. A choir of nearly thirty
Jesuit scholastics from St. Mary’s College sang
hymns for the Mass and at Benediction. A lasting
impression was made on the minds of all who
attended the beautiful ceremony.
Among the Catholic organizations on the Post
we have a Holy Name Society. The men of this
Society receive Holy Communion as a group on the
second Sunday of each month, and attend the meeting of the Society on the second and fourth Monday
of each month. The members of the Holy Name
Society are almost indispensable for the chaplain,
for the success of any enterprise undertaken by the
chaplain is due to the willingness and readiness of
these men to cooperate with their chaplain. It was
possible to have a High Mass on Christmas Eve
because of the earnest efforts of the members of
another organization, St. Mary’s choir. Because of
their enthusiasm and success with the High Mass
of Christmas, it has been decided to have a High
Mass each Sunday in the future. The High Mass
has always been considered as the parish Mass of
any congregation, and at the present time at Fort
Riley we have a parish which has already outgrown
the accommodations of our chapel.
In the expression of these few rambling
thoughts the writer has endeavored to present a
picture of the position and the work of the chaplain
in the Army. If interest has been aroused, it will be
a reward to the writer to feel confident that prayers
will bring the blessing of Heaven not only upon our
chaplains and their work, but also upon the youth
of our country who stand ready to make the supreme sacrifice.
19 John J. Dugan, “The Padre Reports,” The Jesuit Bulletin. (February, 1941).
73 | in their own words
John J. Dugan, S.J. 19
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
veterans day remembrance remarks
This address by Robert L. Keane, S.J., a recently retired Jesuit Navy Chaplain, is included
here since it speaks to the suitability of Jesuit priests for service as military chaplains for reasons as valid today as they were in World War II.
L
adies and Gentlemen, good morning! And,
thank you for your kind invitation to celebrate
this Veterans Day with you! I confess that
I am somewhat surprised and humbled to find
myself as a guest speaker at my Alma Mater. I am
also awed by being in the shadow of this venerable
library where, as an undergraduate, I spent so many
hours sleeping in the over-heated book stacks!
Nonetheless, it is both a privilege and a pleasure
for me to join you today to acknowledge the generations of women and men who have served in the
Armed Forces of our nation, many of them graduates of Boston College. Their dedication, courage
and selflessness deserve our profound respect and
our lasting gratitude.
I have been asked to speak to you this morning
about Catholic military chaplains and, in particular,
about the suitability of Jesuit priests for this very
unique ministry. I do so from the perspective of
Navy chaplains who minister primarily to Sailors
and Marines. However, I trust that my Jesuit brothers currently serving as Army and the Air Force
chaplains would concur with my observations. For
the record, let me say that I address you today not
as an official representative of the Department of
the Navy, or of the Archdiocese for the Military
Services, USA. I am but a retired Navy Chaplain
who is honored to have been a member of both
organizations for more than two decades. Hence,
I, alone, am responsible for these remarks.
74 | in their own words
Military chaplaincy is nothing new to the
Society of Jesus. Our founder, Saint Ignatius
Loyola, himself a soldier, was undoubtedly on the
receiving end of the priestly ministry of dedicated
chaplains. His successor as Superior General of
the Society of Jesus, Diego Laynez, once served
as a chaplain to Spanish naval forces in a raid on
Tripoli in 1550. Closer to home in both time and
space, Father John McElroy, the revered founder of
Boston College, served for ten months as a chaplain
to American Army personnel in 1846-1847 during
the Mexican American War. He did so, I might add,
at the age of 64!
At the close of World War II, 246 American
Jesuit priests were serving as military chaplains.
Fifty-four were members of the New England Province, and 18 of them came from the ranks of the
Boston College faculty. One chaplain, Fr. Daniel J.
Lynch, holds the distinction of being the only Jesuit
to have served in both World Wars! Another former
faculty member, Fr. Joseph Timothy O’Callahan, is
the first Navy Chaplain to be awarded the Medal of
Honor for his heroic actions aboard USS FRANKLIN in the Western Pacific. Over all, from 1918 to
the present, 67 New England Province Jesuits have
served our nation as military chaplains. Today only
one New England Province Jesuit remains on active
duty: Father John Monahan, who is at the Coast
Guard Air Station at Kodiak, Alaska.
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
I began my own active duty service in the Navy
at an age by which many others had already retired
– though I was not as old as Fr. McElroy! In the
late 1980’s you would have found me as a college
chaplain and an instructor in the modern language
department at that other educational institution in
Worcester whose name we do not mention on the
Heights. Shortly after the school year began my
supervisor asked me to reach out to the Midshipmen of the Navy ROTC Unit on campus. Many
months later an unexpected conversation with the
Commanding Officer set in motion a sequence of
events that I had never foreseen. Acquiescing to his
request that I at least think about becoming a Navy
chaplain, I researched the issue thoroughly, as any
good Jesuit would do. And I consulted with several
priest-chaplains with whom I was acquainted. They
spoke very enthusiastically about their ministry and
stressed the desperate shortage of Catholic priests
in the military. At that time, my Jesuit Community
had fifty-one priests. I reasoned that they would
likely not miss one. So, I decided to volunteer for
the naval service.
My first challenge was to convince my Jesuit superior that this plan was a really good idea. Church
authorities are notoriously reluctant to allow priests
to go off to serve in the military. They fear we won’t
ever return to our dioceses or religious communities. Suspecting that I would be fighting an up-hill
battle, I mounted a deliberate, phased campaign
aimed at persuading Father Bob Manning, my
Jesuit Provincial, to grant me permission to become
a Navy chaplain. In our initial meeting in his office
we had a cordial conversation, which he concluded
in a very non-committal fashion. He simply suggested that we both pray more about the matter.
While driving home, I reflected on our visit and,
specifically, his response to my request. Though
not lacking an appreciation for the importance of
prayer, I quickly came to the conclusion that the
75 | in their own words
Holy Spirit might benefit from a little assistance
from yours truly.
So, several weeks later I took a five by seven
index card and wrote: “Dear Bob, Reason Number
One why you ought to let me join the Navy.” I
stated my case very simply, mailed it, and waited
for his response. The Provincial replied exactly as I
expected—on the back of the very same index card.
The next month I followed up with Reason Number
Two, and a month later, Reason Number Three.
I seem to recall that we reached Reason Number
Eight or Nine before he finally capitulated—slain
by the Spirit, if not my persistence. Although
Fr. Manning has long since gone home to God,
I can well imagine that he is still enjoying a good
laugh over my unusual, if not persuasive, tactics.
I now look back on my twenty-three years,
two months and sixteen days of naval service and
wonder where the time went. Those years were
filled with marvelous opportunities for priestly
ministry, and with countless situations in which
peoples’ lives were enriched by the practice of their
Catholic faith. I sailed all around the world, landed
on six continents, and visited many of the holiest
shrines and religious sites so important to
our Faith.
Many times I have been asked: “What was your
favorite duty station?” Truthfully, I never know
precisely how to respond to that question. In God’s
good providence every one of my tours of duty was
richly rewarding and exceedingly enjoyable—but
not for the reasons I have just listed. The primary
source of my satisfaction was always the people: the
service men and women, and their families, with
whom I served and to whom I was sent to minister
as a priest and a chaplain.
I cannot find the words to describe adequately
how extraordinary are these young men and women
who volunteer to serve our nation. They repeatedly
endure cramped quarters, long deployments, physi-
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
cal rigors, long separations from their families,
uncertainty, fatigue, constant change, economic
hardship and real danger in order to honor their
enlistment or commissioning oaths. I stand in awe
of their courage and dedication. Their ingenuity,
creativity, and initiative humble me. Their selfless
commitment to each other and to their mission is
nothing less than inspiring. It is patriots such as
these whom our nation honors today. We owe them
our profound gratitude and unrelenting admiration
and respect.
The exercise of priestly ministry in the Armed
Services is intensely personal. As chaplains, we
witness marriages, baptize babies, hear confessions,
anoint the sick and dying, and share grief and suffering in moments of disappointment, confusion,
sickness and death. Names and faces are forever
embedded in our memories. For example, my very
first military funeral was that of CPL Robert J.
Murphy, USMC who died in a training accident at
Fort Ord in California. Mid-career, I was called to
the Pentagon war zone on the evening of 9-11. Two
days later I was ordered to the White House where I
joined a team of psychologists and clergy providing
counseling to the household staff and to workers in
the Executive Office Building. In the weeks that followed 9-11, I conducted seven funerals or memorial
services for Naval Academy graduates, including
one for my former shipmate, CDR Pat Dunn,
with whom I served in the Sixth Fleet. Shortly
after arriving at my final duty station at Quantico,
Virginia I laid my own nephew to rest in Section
60 of Arlington National Cemetery.
Unlike civilian pastors who are accustomed to
greeting their flock at the doors of the church, we
chaplains go out and forward with our units: we
train with them, deploy with them, get cold, wet,
tired and dirty with them. The camaraderie that
arises from those experiences builds a bond and a
trust which eventually open all sorts of doors for
76 | in their own words
pastoral ministry. To paraphrase Pope Francis,
when chaplains return to garrison after a field exercise, we definitely smell like the sheep of our flock!
Many people have seemed surprised to see or
hear of a Jesuit in uniform. I usually explain to
them that a Jesuit in the military chaplaincy is actually perfectly consistent with our history and our
spirituality. As you know, our founder, Ignatius of
Loyola, was himself a soldier. In founding the Society of Jesus he borrowed from his own life’s experiences in order to better orchestrate the ministries of
his early companions. Hence, military service and
religious life within the Society of Jesus have much
in common, and not by coincidence.
So, with this in mind, please allow me now to
share with you six reasons why I believe Jesuits are
especially well-suited to serve as military chaplains
(1) First, Ignatius states that it is according to
our Jesuit vocation to travel to the farthest corners
of the earth where there is hope of greater service
to God and of help to souls. Consequently, from the
very earliest days of our novitiate training, we Jesuits are expected to be available to serve wherever we
are needed and sent. Though many of us labor in
venerable institutions such as Boston College, Ignatius did not want us to be tied down by these commitments, but rather to be highly mobile and ready
to go at a moment’s notice wherever the need was
determined to be greater. Thus, the entire world
is our mission field. So, crisscrossing the globe as
I have done for twenty-three years would probably
not surprise Ignatius in the least. In fact, I hope it
would please him immensely.
(2) Second, Jesuits are missionaries. We go to
unfamiliar places to share the message of Jesus
Christ both in word and in deed. Throughout history we have adapted our forms of ministry in order
to better meet the needs of people, sometimes with
great success, and at other times to the chagrin of
those watching our innovations. In my first letter to
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
Fr. Manning I described to him how I had come to
identify strongly with the sixteenth-century Italian,
Jesuit missionaries who were admitted to the imperial court of China. I, like they, had to learn to speak
a new language (called acronyms), to wear different
clothing (called uniforms), to adapt to unfamiliar
social customs (called military protocol), and to live
among people whose priorities and experiences
were often very different from my own.
When I first joined the Navy the culture shock
which I experienced was disorienting, to say the
least. The only knowledge I had of military life
came from old John Wayne movies and from a few
history books I had read along the way. Like many
Word War II veterans, my own father, who was
injured in the Battle of the Bulge, never ever spoke
of his wartime experiences. Hence, it came as no
surprise to me that I had much to learn at my first
duty station from my teachers: the United States
Marines. One of their favorite expressions is
“Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome!”— an expression that I found very practical, and “motivating”,
as Marines like to say.
I recall early in this tour of duty going once
again to consult with the Battalion Executive Officer
about some matter of importance. As usual, the
X.O. was harried and busy. Despite the fact that his
desk faced the doorway, he never looked up from
the thick stack of papers before him. Recognizing
my voice, he simply barked: “Yes, chaplain, what
is it?” I thought to myself in a moment of frustration: “What do I have to do to get this man’s attention?” To this day I don’t know what possessed me,
but spontaneously I knelt down in front of his desk
and kept talking. The X.O. soon recognized that my
voice was no longer coming from high above him
but rather was at his eye level. Completely startled,
he looked up in almost total disbelief, speechless. At
that very moment, I thought: “Ah, ha, I’ve got him!”
From then on, every time I went to see the X.O.
he instantly gave me every bit of his undivided at-
77 | in their own words
tention. You see, the real issue was not that I was so
important or the matter at hand so urgent. Rather,
it was that he knew that every person who passed
by his open door would want to know why the X.O.
had the battalion chaplain down on his knees!
Learning new tricks and adapting to unfamiliar
surroundings are behaviors not unknown to Jesuit
missionaries.
(3) Third, Jesuits are called to labor for the
good of souls in an ecumenical environment. The
Navy introduced me to a world far apart from the
Boston, Irish Catholic cocoon in which I grew up.
There I occasionally encountered harsh stereotypes
or ill-informed misconceptions about the Catholic
Church. Once I was caught completely off guard
while speaking with a younger chaplain who had
never in his life ever met or spoken with a Catholic
priest. I was an entirely new challenge for him, and
he for me. Over the years I have learned to appreciate more and more the world-wide, historical and
theological perspectives which we Jesuits develop
due to our extensive education and training.
This provides a tremendously useful resource in
demystifying the Church in the eyes of others.
The Navy Chaplain Corps’ motto, “Cooperation
Without Compromise”, speaks well to the manner
in which military chaplains work closely together
on a daily basis while never sacrificing their own
religious identities.
(4) Fourth, Ignatius expected his followers to go
wherever the need was determined to be the greatest. Currently, the Department of Defense has a
total of 234 active duty priests serving approximately 1.8 million Catholics, that is, military personnel,
family members, and American diplomatic and federal employees laboring overseas in 134 countries.
Military priests deploy with their units, as well as
serve personnel at 220 military installations in 29
countries. Today approximately 25% of all military
members identify themselves as Catholic, and yet
only 8% of all military chaplains are Catholic. So,
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
given these statistics, I think it is safe to say that the
need for priestly ministry among our military services is very great indeed. A soldier himself, Ignatius
would certainly be sympathetic to Jesuits stepping
forward to assist with this need.
I want to mention in passing that the Archdiocese for the Military Services is also responsible for
providing pastoral ministry to the Catholic patients
of 153 Veterans Affairs Medical Centers throughout
the country. A number of “civilian” Jesuits have
served faithfully at these centers as chaplains to
our veterans. God bless them for their dedication
and service!
(5) Fifth, Jesuits are, by vocation, evangelizers and teachers. Within the military community
there are many, appropriate venues in which we
chaplains can speak the Good News. We do so in a
comparatively subdued manner, but our presence
as chaplains affords us the opportunity to share the
Catholic faith with any who ask. This is particularly
important in light of some of the alarming statistics
of our times. The Pew Research Center’s Forum
on Religion and Public Life issued a study not too
long ago that indicates that approximately one-third
of all Americans under the age of twenty-five claim
no specific religious affiliation or identity of any
sort. And 88% of them say that they are not actively
seeking an affiliation. They are colloquially referred
to as “Nones”—spelled “n-o-n-e-s”—since they have
no religious preference—none at all. 74% of these
“Nones” were initially raised in some faith tradition
which they subsequently abandoned. More to the
point, among our young, military service members
these “Nones” comprise the single, fastest-growing
religious profile on record. Jesuits have a long history of going to the “unchurched”, living among
them, and sharing the faith with any spiritual
pilgrims whom they meet. This, too, seems to
be another good reason to have Jesuit military
chaplains!
78 | in their own words
(6) Finally, the ministry of priests in the military is dedicated to sustaining the spiritual lives of
all Catholics. However, our presence is especially
helpful to those individuals who are discerning a
call to religious life or to the priesthood. Military
personnel are generous people who have a mind-set
of service. Hence, transitioning from the Armed
Services to a life of dedicated service within the
church is not all that dramatic or even uncommon.
One of my former shipmates is now a cloistered
nun in Colorado. Six men with whom I once served
are either currently preparing for ordination to the
priesthood or are already serving in various dioceses or religious orders throughout the United States.
One of them even became a Jesuit! Just last month,
at that other college whose name I did not mention
earlier, I ceremonially commissioned a Jesuit scholastic (or seminarian) as a Navy Chaplain Candidate. He is presently a student here at the School
of Theology and Ministry and he hopes to serve
on active duty once he has completed his Jesuit
training. That will be about seven years from now –
we Jesuits are notoriously slow students!
It is a commonly-accepted statistic that approximately ten percent of priests in the United States
have previously served in the Armed Forces. So, we
know that there are priestly vocations in the ranks.
There definitely are individuals who are considering separating from the military in order to serve
the Church in the priesthood or in religious life.
Having priests in uniform to direct, counsel and
advise these potential vocations is critical to their
spiritual well-being. Meeting that need is certainly
something that we Jesuits can do well, along with
the many other, fine diocesan and religious order
priests who are currently serving as chaplains.
So, in closing, let me say that I firmly believe
that the military chaplaincy offers a very suitable
venue in which Jesuit priests can and should be
present. As a Church, we have an obligation to
�chapter 4 | to love and serve
provide pastoral care and sacramental ministry to
those in uniform. As Jesuits, we have a spirituality
and a perspective on ministry which prepare us well
to serve in these extraordinary circumstances. I was
very pleased and proud to have served as a Navy
chaplain. And, although that ministry required me
to live alone for twenty-three years, I always felt very
much a part of my Jesuit community, no matter
where in the world I happened to be. Thanks to
my Jesuit superiors who consistently and enthusiastically reaffirmed this assignment, I was richly
blessed in ways that I could never have imagined.
I am very grateful to our Jesuit Provincials who
are mindful of the spiritual needs of our men and
women in uniform. Despite the increasing shortages of manpower in our own institutions and apostolates, they have generously provided Jesuit priests
who supply pastoral care for those in the military.
Currently we have two Jesuits on active duty in the
Navy, one in the Air Force, and one in the Army.
There are also two Jesuits serving in the Air Force
Reserve, one each in the Army Reserve or National
Guard, and one in the Navy Reserve. The latter is
Bishop Michael Barber, who is the new Ordinary of
the Diocese of Oakland, CA. Yes, a Jesuit, Bishop,
Navy Chaplain!
In appreciation of the ministry of these Jesuit
priests, I leave with you with these words of Fleet
Admiral Chester W. Nimitz:
“By his patient, sympathetic labors with men
day in, day out, and through many a night, every
Chaplain I know contributed immeasurably to the
moral courage of our fighting men. None of this
effort appears in the statistics. Most of it was necessarily secret between pastor and his confidant. It is
for that toil in the cause both of God and country
that I honor the Chaplain most.”
Ladies and gentlemen, please pray for the
234 priests who are currently on active duty in the
Armed Services. They labor every day in the face of
tremendous challenges and ever-increasing, urgent
pastoral concerns.
Please pray also for our Wounded Warriors who
struggle each day with the burdens of frail health
and physical challenges and limitations. They have
sacrificed much of themselves for our nation. In
every way possible we need to support them, and
their families and friends who provide them with
assistance on a daily basis.
Today our nation pauses to remember all who
have served in the Armed Forces of the United
States. These veterans – you veterans – have earned
our admiration and profound gratitude for your
singular selflessness and devotion to duty. We
can never thank you enough, but may our words
and our presence here this morning stand in
testimony of our appreciation for your generous
and courageous service.
Thank you, and God bless you all!
Robert L. Keane, S.J., 201320
20 Robert L. Keane, S.J., “Veterans Day Remembrance Remarks,” Thirteenth Annual Veterans Remembrance Ceremony,
Boston College, November 11, 2013.
79 | in their own words
�to love and serve
Afterword
During World War II between December 1941 and 1945 some 16 million Americans served
in the Armed Forces. Of these 416,000 gave their lives as the United States waged war in
the European and Pacific theaters. More than 8,000 Chaplains of all denominations served
side by side with the men and women in this deadliest military conflict in history.
“�
T
hey held religious services for soldiers
and sailors and preached to them.
They counseled and advised those
who sought help. They were everywhere they
deemed their presence to be necessary – in battle, that meant with the combat troops, and there
the chaplain often acted above and beyond the call
of duty. Under hostile fire, they risked their lives.
(Seventy Catholic Chaplains died in World War
II.) They sought the wounded, the dying, and the
dead who lay exposed and helpless. They succored
them, rescued them, brought them back to medical aid stations, and prayed over them. They buried
21
bodies and wrote to the families of the deceased.”
“In combat, every chaplain experienced the same
terrors – the threat of sudden annihilation or severe
injury, the death of one’s closest companions – the
same crushing burden of labor, and hardships of
weather and terrain. At the same time, chaplains
who remained in the United States during all of
the war (many of whom resented having to stay at
home while ‘the boys’ were suffering overseas) suf22
fered boredom and frustration.”
Although but a small percentage of the total number of Chaplains, the records of military
service, the citations and awards, and the inspiring
stories of New England Province Jesuits recounted
here capture the shared experience of the whole and
remind us that we must not forget with the passage
of time the sacrifices they, together with millions of
their fellow Americans, so generously made to keep
our Nation free.
21 Donald F. Crosby, Battlefield Chaplains. (Lawrence, KS, University of Kansas Press, 1994), xi-xii.
22 Ibid., xxiv.
80 | afterword
�to love and serve love and serve
appendices | to
Appendices
n
New England Province Military Chaplains, 1918–2014
n
New England Province Military Chaplains, Number by Year, 1942–2014
n
New England Province Military Chaplains, Post World War II
81 | appendices
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, 1918 – 2014
STATUS
AS OF
NAME
RANK
BRANCH
YEARS
AWARDS
Barry, John L.
Major
Army
1945–1946
1951–1970
Bronze Star, Purple Heart
Bonn, John L.
Lieutenant
Navy
1943–1946
Boylan, Bernard R.
Lieutenant
Navy
1943–1946
Brennan, Thomas A.
Captain
Army
1945–1946
Brock, Laurence M.
Lieutenant
Colonel
Army
1941–1946
Burke, William J.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1975–1984
Died
1989
Carroll, Anthony G.
Major
Army
1940–1946
Left SJ
1950
Clancy, John L.
Major
Army
1937–1946
Died
1984
Cleary, Hebert J.
Lieutenant
Navy
1970
Living
Coleman, Jeremiah F.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
1951–1952
Died
1961
Connors, J. Bryan
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
1970
Curran, Joseph P.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Left SJ
1959
DeStefano, Neal J.
Lieutenant
Commander
Marines
1987–1997
Left SJ
1998
Devlin, John F.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
1981
82 | appendices
2014
Died
1987
Died
1975
Navy and
Marine Corps Medal
Died
1978
Died
1967
Legion of Merit
Died
1989
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, 1918 – 2014 (cont)
STATUS
AS OF
NAME
RANK
BRANCH
YEARS
AWARDS
Dolan, James J.
Major
Army
1940–1946
Bronze Star
Doody, Michael J.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1988
Duffy, William J.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
1998
Dugan, John J.
Major
Army
1936–1946
1948–1953
Dunn, Raymond V.
Lieutenant
Navy
1966
Left SJ
2001
Farrelly, Peter T.
First
Lieutenant
Army
1957–1977
Died
1999
Fay, Thomas A.
Lieutenant
Commander
Merchant
Marine
1942–1945
Died
1969
Fay, Thomas P.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
1948–1949
Finnegan, Bernard J.
Commander
Navy
1945–1946
1950–1957
Died
1979
Foley, John P.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1995
Gallagher, Frederick A.
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1964
Geary, James F.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
1980
Hennessey, Thomas P.
Lieutenant
Colonel
Army
1943–1948
1951–1968
Howard, Edward F.
Captain
Army
1969–1971
83 | appendices
Bronze Star, Army
Commendation Ribbon
Benemerenti Medal
Bronze Star
2014
Died
1952
Died
1964
Died
1988
Died
1978
Living
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, 1918 – 2014 (cont)
RANK
BRANCH
YEARS
Hurld, John L.
Captain
Army
1952–1970
Died
1970
Huss, Harry L.
Captain
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1976
Keane, Robert L.
Captain
Navy
1990–2012
Kelleher, John J.
Majot
Army
1944–1964
Died
1964
Kenealy, William J.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1943–1946
Died
1974
Kennedy, Walter E.
Major
Army
1944–1946
Died
1966
King, George A.
Major
Army
1942–1946
Died
1965
Leonard, William J.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
2000
Long, John J.
Lieutenant
Colonel
Army
1942–1946
1947–1956
Died
1964
Lynch, Daniel J.
Brigadier
General
Army
1918–1919
1941–1942
Lyons, John F.
Captain
Army
1944–1947
Left SJ
1952
MacDonald, Francis J.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1979
MacLeod, Harry C.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Left SJ
1951
McCauley, Leo P.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1943–1946
Died
1993
84 | appendices
AWARDS
STATUS
AS OF
NAME
Navy Commendation
Medal (4), Meritorious
Service Medal (3)
Purple Heart
2014
Living
Died
1952
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, 1918 – 2014 (cont)
RANK
BRANCH
YEARS
McLaughlin, James D.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1943–1946
Died
1977
Mellett, Robert C.
Captain
Navy
1963–1987
Died
1990
Monahan, John C.
Lieutenant
Navy
2006–
Active
Morgan, Carl H.
Captain
Army
1945–1954
Left SJ
1954
Murphy, Francis J.
Captain
Army
1945–1948
Died
1995
Murphy, George M.
Major
Army
1938–1946
Murphy, Paul J.
Lieutenant
Navy
1944–1946
Died
1990
Maritime
Service
1945
Died
1987
O’Brien, Vincent deP.
AWARDS
STATUS
AS OF
NAME
Army Commendation
Medal
Medal of Honor,
Purple Heart
2014
Died
1971
Died
1964
O’Callahan, Joseph T.
Commander
Navy
1940–1946
O’Connor, Daniel F.X.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1958
O’Keefe, Leo P.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
1991
Passero, Ernest F.
Commander
Navy
1974–1992
Reardon, Charles J.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
85 | appendices
Navy Commendation
Medal (2), Navy and
Marine Overseas Ribbon
Living
Died
1991
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, 1918 – 2014 (cont)
RANK
BRANCH
YEARS
Roddy, Charles M.
Captain
Army
1943–1946
Died
1967
Rooney, Richard L.
Captain
Army
1944–1946
Died
1977
Ryan, Daniel F.
Captain
Army
1943–1946
Died
1970
St. John, John D.
Colonel
Army
Air Force
1942–1946
1949–1965
Shanahan, Joseph P.
Lieutenant
Navy
1944–1946
Shanahan, Thomas A.
Lieutenant
Colonel
Army
1942–1946
Shea, Richard G.
Captain
Major
Army
Air Force
1942–1946
1951–1956
Sheridan, Robert E.
Major
Army
1942–1946
Smith, Lawrence C.
Lieutenant
Commander
Marines
1989–2003
Living
Stinson, William M.
First Lieutenant
Army
1918–1919
Died
1935
Stockman, Harold V.
Lieutenant
Commander
Navy
1943–1948
Died
1962
Sullivan, Francis V.
Commander
Navy
1942–1946
Died
1972
Travers, David O.
Commander
Navy
1977–1996
Living
86 | appendices
AWARDS
STATUS
AS OF
NAME
Bronze Star
Air Force
Commendation
Medal (2)
2014
Died
1992
Left SJ
1950
Bronze Str
Died
1963
Died
1984
Army Commendation
Medal
Died
1978
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, number by year
YEAR
NUMBER
YEAR
NUMBER
1942
8
1957
6
1943
21
1958
6
1944
32
1959
6
1945
49
1960
7
1946
54
1961
6
1947
7
1962
7
1948
6
1963
7
1949
6
1964
7
1950
6
1965
6
1951
10
1966
5
1952
11
1967
5
1953
9
1968
5
1954
9
1969
5
1955
8
1970
3
1956
6
1971
2
87 | appendices
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, number by year (cont)
YEAR
NUMBER
YEAR
NUMBER
1972
2
1987
3
1973
3
1988
4
1974
3
1989
5
1975
4
1990
5
1976
5
1991
5
1977
4
1992
4
1978
3
1993
4
1979
4
1994
3
1980
4
1995
4
1981
4
1996
3
1982
4
1997
2
1983
4
1998
2
1984
3
1999
2
1985
3
2000
1
1986
4
2001
1
88 | appendices
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, number by year (cont)
YEAR
NUMBER
YEAR
NUMBER
2002
1
2009
2
2003
1
2010
2
2004
1
2011
2
2005
2
2012
1
2006
2
2013
1
2007
2
2014
1
2008
2
89 | appendices
�appendices | to love and serve
new england province military chaplains, post world war II
CHAPLAIN
NUMBER OF
YEARS SERVED
John J. Kelleher, S.J. (Army)*
1944–1964
John D. St. John, S.J. (Air Force)*
1949–1965
Bernard J. Finnegan, S.J. (Navy)*
1950–1957, 1961, 1965
John L. Barry, S.J. (Army)*
1951–1970
Thomas P. Hennessey, S.J. (Army)*
1951–1968
John L. Hurld, S.J. (Army)
1952–1970
Peter T. Farrelly, S.J. (Army)
1957–1977
Robert C. Mellett, S.J. (Navy)
1963–1987
Raymond V. Dunn, S.J. (Navy)
1966
Edward F. Howard, S.J. (Army)
1969–1971
Herbert J. Cleary, S.J. (Navy)
1970
Ernest F. Passero, S.J. (Navy)
1974–1992
William J. Burke, S.J. (Navy)
1975–1984
David O. Travers, S.J. (Navy)
1977–1996
Neal J. DeStefano, S.J. (Marines)
1987–1997
Lawrence C. Smith, S.J. (Marines)
1989–2000
Robert L. Keane, S.J. (Navy)
1989–2012
John C. Monahan, S.J. (Navy)
* Also served in World War II
90 | appendices
2006–
�to love and serve
Photo Gallery
new england jesuit chaplains – world war II,
Weston College, August 21, 1946
Photo:
Archives of the Society of Jesus of New England, College of the Holy Cross, Worcester, MA
Top Row:
ARMY: John F. Devlin (Captain), Walter E. Kennedy (Captain), Anthony G. Carroll (Major), Harry L. Huss (Major),
Charles J. Reardon (Captain), Thomas A. Brennan (Captain), William J. Duffy (Captain), John J. Long (Lt. Col.)
rd
3 Row:
nd
ARMY: George A. King (Major), Robert E. Sheridan (Captain), Daniel R. Ryan (Captain), Thomas P. Fay (Captain),
Thomas A. Shanahan (Lt. Col.) , John L. Clancy (Major), Leo P. O’Keefe (Captain), John L. Barry (Captain), J. Bryan
Connors (Captain), Thomas P. Hennessey (Captain)
2 Row:
NAVY: Frederick A. Gallagher (Captain), Francis J. MacDonald (Lt. Cmdr.), Joseph P. Shanahan (Lieut.), Leo P. McCauley (Lt. Cmdr.), Daniel F.X. O’Connor (Lt. Cmdr.), William J. Kenealy (Lt. Comdr.), Bernard R. Boylan (Lieut.),
Bernard J. Finnegan (Lieut.), Paul J. Murphy (Lieut.), John P. Foley (Lt. Comdr.), James D. McLaughlin (Lt. Comdr.),
Vincent de Paul O’Brien (Lieut.), John L. Bonn (Lieut.), Michael J. Doody (Lt. Comdr.), Francis V. Sullivan (Cmdr.)
front Row:
ARMY: John J. Dugan (Lt. Col.), Richard G. Shea (Captain), Laurence M. Brock (Major), Francis J.Murphy (Captain),
Daniel J. Lynch(Colonel), Fr. Provincial John J. McEleney, James J. Dolan (Major), James F. Geary (Captain), Jeremiah
F. Coleman (Captain), Carl H. Morgan (Captain), William J. Leonard (Captain)
absent:
Joseph P. Curran (Captain), Thomas A. Fay (Lt. Cmdr.), John J. Kelleher (Lt. Col.), John F. Lyons (Captain), Harry C.
MacLeod (Lt. Cmdr.), George M. Murphy (Major), Joseph T. O’Callahan (Cmdr.), Charles M. Roddy (Captain), Richard L. Rooney (Captain), John D. St. John (Colonel), Harold V. Stockman (Lt. Cmdr.)
91 | photo gallery
�photo gallery | to love and serve
boston college chaplains – world war II
Photo:
Archives of the Society of Jesus of New England, College of the Holy Cross, Worcester, MA
seated:
Francis V. Sullivan (Cmdr.), William J. Leonard (Captain), Leo P. McCauley (Lt. Cmdr.), Richard G. Shea (Captain),
William J. Kenealy (Lt. Cmdr.), Daniel J. Lynch (Brig. Gen.), Vincent de P. O’Brien (Lieut.),George A. King (Major)
standing:
Daniel F.X. O’Connor (Lt. Cmdr.), James D. McLaughlin (Lt Cmdr.), Francis J. MacDonald (Lt. Cmdr.), James F.
Geary (Captain), Anthony G. Carroll (Major), Carl H. Morgan (Captain), John L. Bonn (Lieut.), John P. Foley (Cmdr.),
Joseph P. Shanahan (Lieut.)
92 | photo gallery
�photo gallery | to love and serve
holy cross college chaplains – world war II
Photo:
Archives of the Society of Jesus of New England, College of the Holy Cross, Worcester, MA
front row: Frederick A. Gallagher (Cmdr.), John F. Devlin (Captain), Joseph T. O’Callahan
(Cmdr.), J. Bryan Connors (Captain),
Michael J. Doody (Lt. Cmdr.)
back row:
John L. Clancy (Major), Paul J. Murphy (Lieut.), Thomas A. Shanahan (Lt. Col.), Bernard J. Finnegan (Cmdr.),
Charles J. Reardon (Captain)
93 | photo gallery
�
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Joseph P. Duffy Collection of Digital Works
Subject
The topic of the resource
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85021043.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Catholic Church</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh87004995.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Jesuits--History--20th century</a>
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
<a href="https://lccn.loc.gov/n87831774" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Duffy, Joseph P.</a>
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Jesuit Archives & Research Center, St. Louis, Missouri
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Jesuit Archives & Research Center
Duffy, Joseph P.
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
Reproduced with permission of the Northeast Province of the Society of Jesus
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
PDF
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
JA-Duffy
Source
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
Northeast Province Archive
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Rights Holder
A person or organization owning or managing rights over the resource.
Northeast Province of the Society of Jesus
Abstract
A summary of the resource.
This collection contains publications edited by Joseph P. Duffy, S.J. regarding histories of New England Province Jesuits.
Date Accepted
Date of acceptance of the resource. Examples of resources to which a Date Accepted may be relevant are a thesis (accepted by a university department) or an article (accepted by a journal).
2016-09-06
Extent
The size or duration of the resource.
3 items
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939-1945, 1968
Date Created
Date of creation of the resource.
2016
Date Modified
Date on which the resource was changed.
2020-07-21
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
Electronic Book
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
To Love and Serve: World War II Chaplains of the New England Province of Jesuits
Subject
The topic of the resource
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85148273.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">World War, 1939-1945</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85148357.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">World War, 1939-1945--Chaplains</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85021043.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Catholic Church</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh87004995.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Jesuits--History--20th century</a>
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
<a href="https://lccn.loc.gov/n87831774" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Duffy, Joseph P.</a>
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Jesuit Archives & Research Center
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Jesuit Archives & Research Center
Joseph P. Duffy
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
Joseph P. Duffy
Relation
A related resource
JA-Duffy
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
PDF
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
JA-Duffy-002
Description
An account of the resource
This publication contains biographical narratives, data, and oral histories of New England Province Jesuits who served as Chaplains in the United States military during the Second World War.
Source
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
Joseph P. Duffy
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Date Created
Date of creation of the resource.
2016
Rights Holder
A person or organization owning or managing rights over the resource.
Joseph P. Duffy
Date Available
Date (often a range) that the resource became or will become available.
2016-09-06
Extent
The size or duration of the resource.
93 pages
Date Modified
Date on which the resource was changed.
2020-07-21
Biography
Catholic Church
Chaplains
Jesuits
Socity of Jesus
United States Army
United States Military
World War II
-
https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/26015/archive/files/9759c0f8878b6fc5200648bd99ed8281.pdf?Expires=1712793600&Signature=WPsAOFknxlB3hpGVG5bwBSNMSqDbra1ZO7T-shG5jBAv4R1DFtzWX%7E6nm-YS4eKkNCbMbUKgEdCD-G51TbUxll3ih2WnGHEu0xqqimlwwRdAq2CWluw5aNhxxBbQm7X3LRvuCD-31q8ylNS-XU04ckQwtZ8CnqKJHIfDpMMkkJPjJkf-mvYaTDaQadEs16a2kT69r%7Ek0hnkRTVCdva4lbX8QF4SNPKFVjqYXpOBpBh2u0SYn7jz50bTjzgppxGSQjiYNA7g5%7EammAxixashXHnbw1di3LZRnqoaiNT2dHvYoJ%7EdiT2ojLL4gmMAazuxMuvCQBGSv6ZXM1jat7rhU1Q__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM
491cf45a7a97f4caad037814b7aec137
PDF Text
Text
LIFE
UNDER THE
JAPS
STORIES FROM A PRISONER-OF-WAR CAMP
�Table of Contents
1 FOREWORD
23 CHAPTER SEVEN
Everybody in Camp Seemed Ill;
Worst Cases Hospitalized
111
INTRODUCTION
From Bataan’s Fall to Miraculous Rescue
at Cabanatuan by Yanks
26 CHAPTER EIGHT
Sometimes Japs Put Flowers
on American Graves
1 CHAPTER ONE
24 Hours of Chaos and Mystery
Preceded U. S. Surrender of Bataan
29 CHAPTER NINE
“No Atheists in Foxholes”
Saying is Largely True
7 CHAPTER TWO
Captors Seized Food and Medicine;
Left Patients on Bataan Only Rice
31
Fear of Death by Torture
Was Always in All Minds
11 CHAPTER THREE
Nips Did a Brisk Business
in Stolen U. S. Cigarettes;
How Yanks Starved on Rice
33
as Prisoners Start Trip to Cabanatuan
17 CHAPTER FIVE
Handed Ball of Rice and Sent with
Corregidor Men to Notorious Cabanatuan
20 CHAPTER SIX
Survivors of Death March
Didn’t Want to Remember
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Burial Detail Left Camp
with Dead at 4 Each Day
14 CHAPTER FOUR
Sympathy Shows in Faces of Filipinos
CHAPTER TEN
35
CHAPTER TWELVE
Christmas Midnight Mass
for 6000 in Moonlight
38 CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Prisoner Farm Workers
Often Brutally Beaten
�Table of Contents (continued)
40 CHAPTER FOURTEEN
9 Threatened With Death
If One Prisoner Escaped
42 CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Red Cross Shipments
Exposed Jap Lies
45 CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Shaving Became Problem;
Japs Grabbed Razors
48 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
American Navy Bombers
Flew Directly Overhead
50 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Japs Suddenly Pull Out;
Leave Prisoners Unguarded
53
End of Long Trip Was Like
a Triumphal Procession
59 SERVICE BIOGRAPHY
Dugan, S.J., John J. (New England)
60 ASSIGNMENTS
Dugan, S.J., John J. (New England)
61 BOSTON GLOBE, APRIL 15, 1943
Maj. J. J. Dugan. S.J., Boston,
Jap Prisoner in Philippines
62 WOODSTOCK LETTERS
The American Spirit
64 BOSTON GLOBE, FEBRUARY 2, 1945
Fr. Dugan was Chaplain
at Boston City Hospital
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hearts Pumped Like Mad at Cry,
“We’re Americans”
55
57 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
65 BOSTON GLOBE, APRIL 1, 1945
Maj. Dugan to Talk
at Patriot’s Day Service
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Alarm” Rescuers Heard Was 7 Bells,
Navy Time
66 NEW ENGLAND PROVINCE NEWS, 1965
Fr. John J. Dugan, S.J.
1897 – 1964
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
Forew0rd
“L
IFE UNDER THE JAPS” IS A STORY THAT WAS TOLD 70 YEARS AGO
OVER A THREE WEEK PERIOD, APRIL 1-21, 1945, IN THE BOSTON GLOBE
AFTER WORLD WAR II. It is the story of a young Jesuit priest, Fr. John J. Dugan,
S.J., who in 1936 left his assignment as chaplain at the Boston City Hospital to join
the United States Army.
He became a chaplain at the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) Camp at Fort Ethan Allen in
Vermont from November 1937 until June 1940.
(During the Great Depression the CCC was a public
work relief program for unemployed, unmarried
men, ages 18-23, and later ages 17-28, of whom only
11% had completed high school. The camps were
operated by Reserve Officers from the U. S. Army.)
He was called to regular Army service in 1940 and
served at Fort Riley, KS from June 1940 until September 1941, where preparations were being made
because of war clouds gathering over Europe and
Asia. During this time Fr. Dugan wrote an article
about the role and duties of a chaplain serving in
the military that he was substantially able to carry
out in the relative peace and quiet of Fort Riley. But
that was to change dramatically after his transfer to
the Philippines in October 1941, two months before
the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the United States
declaration of war on Japan, and just four months
before his being taken as a prisoner of war in April
1942 by the Japanese. For the next 34 months Fr.
Dugan would be carrying out his priestly ministry
under incredibly harsh conditions both for him
personally and the young men with whom he suffered and struggled and among whom he was one
of those who survived. I believe that you will be
both appalled and inspired by what you are about
to read. Appalled by the brutality with which the
prisoners of war were treated and the tragedy of the
far too many who made the ultimate sacrifice in the
fight for freedom. Inspired by the honesty, courage
and high level of morale of the American prisoners,
their care and support for one another throughout
their imprisonment and the generosity of the Filipino people who sacrificed their lives and freedom
to provide our men with gifts of food and medicine.
For his heroic and selfless service to all the U. S.
prisoners, especially the sick and dying, Fr. Dugan
was awarded the Bronze Star and the Army
Commendation Ribbon.
After receiving much needed medical attention
upon his return to the States, Fr. Dugan’s next assignment in May 1945 was as chaplain at Cushing
General Hospital in Framingham, MA, where still
recovering from his ordeal during which he had
I | foreword
�lost all his teeth and weighed less than 120 pounds,
he was regarded as much a patient as a chaplain.
In August 1946 he was relieved of active duty with
the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. But just a little less
than two years later in June, 1948 he was recalled to
active duty with chaplaincy assignments in Texas,
Georgia, Michigan, Guam, Manila and Japan until
his final separation from the Army Reserve as
Lieutenant Colonel in May 1954.
Over the next ten years Fr. Dugan carried out his
priestly ministry in various parishes and later as a
member of the Jesuit Mission Band. It was after
returning from eleven weeks of giving missions in
late November 1964 that he suffered his first heart
attack. After two more in the following two weeks
he breathed his last and returned to the Lord whom
he served so faithfully and well. At his request,
Fr. Dugan’s funeral was, like that of this brother
Jesuits, simple and plain, with no military honors.
But his is a story of faith and courage in the service
of his country that should never be forgotten. How
proud St. Ignatius, the soldier-saint and founder of
the Jesuits, must be of his faithful son!
joseph p. duffy, s.j.
II | foreword
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
Sunday, April 1 – Sa
turday, April 21, 1945
“LIFE UNDER THE
JAPS”
By
, S.J.
Major John J. Dugan
Chaplain, U.S.A.
Lue
As told to Willard de
All rights reserved.)
Newspaper Company.
opyright 1945, Globe
(C
From Bataan’s Fall to Miraculous Rescue
at Cabanatuan by Yanks
an introduction by willard de lue
O
VER THE LAST FEW DAYS, HOUR ON HOUR AT A STRETCH, I HAVE HEARD
ONE OF THE GREATEST STORIES OF HUMAN EXPERIENCE that has come my
way in nearly 40 years of newspaper life.
It is the story of 34 months under the Japs, as
and then served in the CCC camps of Vermont,
told by Maj. John J. Dugan of Boston (of South
has an amazing memory. Again he has recorded
Boston, if you insist on complete localization), a
the whole story of his prison experiences while
Jesuit priest of the New England Province, for some
they are still freshly seared in his mind.
years an Army chaplain. He was captured on Bataan
He reached Boston a week ago last Tuesday,
April 9, 1942 – and from that day until night of the
scarcely six weeks after he and 510 others were
30th of last January spent his days as a captive in
rescued from Cabanatuan prison camp by
Japanese prisons in the Philippines.
Col. Mucci’s Rangers, aided by a group of Alamo
Never before has the complete day-by-day,
Scouts and bodies of Philippine guerrillas. Boston
month-by-month story of the lives lived by our
gave him four hectic days – receptions, dinners,
men as prisoners of the Japs been told in any such
meetings, questionings by reporters, posing
4John McElroy,will find infor the Dugan’sWar – 1846,” Woodstock photographers. Then he was kidnapped.
detail as you “Chaplains Maj. Mexican story. To
for Letters, 15, 200.
5 Ibid., with, this blue-eyed priest of 47, who for four
begin 201.
It was realized that if his story was to be
years was a chaplain at the Boston City Hospital
recorded in its fullness Maj. Dugan must be
III | an introduction by willard de lue
�freed from all distractions. So we carried him
to the peace and restful surroundings of Poland
Spring, Me. – dragged him away even before
he had an opportunity to visit members of his
own family.
plain, unadorned story
At Poland Spring, in long sessions (often running past midnight) in our convenient sitting room,
in long walks through the pines (where touches of
still-remaining snow made sharp contrast with the
scenes he had known under the blazing sun of
Luzon), at leisurely meals at the Mansion House,
Maj. Dugan told me his story.
You will find it a plain, unadorned story, told
without a touch of rhetorical decoration. It is not
a horror story, though you will find in it accounts
of Japanese brutality. There’s nothing sensational
about it; it wasn’t told to “make a point.” But if you
want to know what life in Japanese prison camps
was like, here it is in its every aspect.
The story runs chronologically. It opens with the
day of surrender, a day that no man in it will ever
forget, but which to Maj. Dugan in a special way was
a day of fantastic adventure. Things happened which
left him dizzy; evening found him a prisoner of war.
That story is printed in today’s Sunday Globe.
From here on it is a story of prison life – first
as a patient at Field Hospital No. 1 at Little Baguio,
on Bataan itself; then at Bilibid, once the criminal
prison of Manila; next in Japanese Military Prison
No. 1, near Cabanatuan, north of Manila; again, at
Military Prison No. 3, also near Cabanatuan, and
finally back in Prison Camp No. 1, where he
remained more than two years.
Its outstanding feature is its detail. It will
answer almost every question you might raise about
prison life. Did they have to eat rats? Maj. Dugan
tells you the answer to that one. How did they make
out on footwear? How much did the Japs molest
them? What were the sleeping quarters like? What
did they read? How well did packages and mail come
through? How about the weather? Did they have
money, and could they buy anything with it? How
did they get it, and how much? What were their
amusements, if any?
The story contains some baffling contrasts. Here
you’ll meet Japanese guards who beat prisoners for
IV | an introduction by willard de lue
seemingly no reason at all; and then you’ll meet
guards with another work detail who act more like
human beings. You’ll even meet Japs (but not many
of them) who pick flowers to lay on the graves of
American dead. How come? Fr. Dugan doesn’t
pretend to know.
After I had heard the entire story of 34 months
under the Japs, I told Fr. Dugan that I thought it
somewhat reassuring to the families and friends of
those men still in Japanese hands. He didn’t agree
with me. Yet I still think that it is reassuring. For
Fr. Dugan’s story shows that all through the period
of his imprisonment conditions improved. True,
the improvement was perhaps scarcely perceptible.
But to me the very fact that things did not deteriorate in this one case brings the suggestion of hope
for the many men still held in prisons in Japan
and Manchoukuo.
Fr. Dugan is now back in Boston for a few days
before reporting at Lovell General Hospital, Fort
Devens, for medical checkup. He looks well and has
regained much of the weight he lost while on a rice
diet. He picked up several pounds while at Poland
Spring. But it will be a long time before he and
those who were with him will get back to normal; I
noticed that he tired easily and was glad of a rest
after what was to me a short walk. But Fr. Dugan
certainly doesn’t consider himself an invalid. He’s
already talking about the day when he can get back
into active service with the boys he loves so well.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter one
24 Hours of Chaos and Mystery
Preceded U. S. Surrender of Bataan
F
OR THREE YEARS I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THE DAY OF SURRENDER ON
BATAAN, STRUGGLING TO CLARIFY THE CHAOS OF EVENTS AND EMOTIONS that
made it perhaps the most amazing day of my life. Only those who were there, crowded into
the lower end of that peninsula, physically worn out by weeks of unequal struggle, nerves taut
from steady bombing, against which there was no defense, shaken by the report that the Nips had at
last broken through and that the end was near – only those who were there can understand the terrifying
confusion of the last hours in which I played a very small but active part.
I was convinced that somewhere there was
few days after that I was assigned to Fort McKinley
treachery. Not in the surrender itself, for that, we
as chaplain of the 12th Medical Regiment of the
knew, was inevitable. But strange things happened
Philippine Division. I was at Fort McKinley when
in the collapse of resistance down the peninsula.
the Japs struck, and shortly after that was made
Perhaps treachery, perhaps just trickery, perhaps
assistant chaplain of the division. But I continued
just imagination. After three years I am still
to make my headquarters, until the very end, with
wondering for I know what fantasies the strain
the medical regiment.
of war and the poignancy of defeat and utter
Our outfit had been forced down the Bataan
disappointment can conjure up.
peninsula by gradual stages, but for some time
Throughout the days of the Bataan defense I
before the surrender we had been at Lamao, which
was assistant chaplain of the Philippine Division,
lies on the east coast (that is, facing Manila Bay),
the famed outfit known as the Philippine Scouts.
perhaps 12 or 15 miles above Mariveles, which is at
Though its officers were men of the United States
the extreme southern tip.
Regular Army, the rank and file were entirely
native Filipinos – fine living, loyal and courageous
chaos begins
soldiers. I look upon it as one of the blessings of
Bataan was surrendered April 9, 1942. Late
my life that I was privileged to work among them
in the night of April 7 our clearance company
and with them and to have known them as
and the headquarters service company were or4John McElroy, “Chaplains for the Mexican War – 1846,” Woodstock Letters, 15, 200.
dered to fall back under cover of darkness through
close friends.
5 Ibid., 201.
Cabcaben, past Field Hospital No. 2, and to bivouac
I had served with the Scouts almost from the
alongside Field Hospital No. 1, at Little Baguio,
day of my arrival at Manila, Oct. 24, 1941. Just a
1 | 24 hours of chaos and mystery preceded u.s. surrender of bataan
�not far from Mariveles. Our collecting companies,
whose job it was to bring in the wounded, were stationed with the various tactical units of the division
on both sides of the peninsula. We moved out of
Lamao at 2 o’clock in the morning of the 8th, of
course carrying with us all the wounded then in
the clearance company’s temporary hospital. By
daylight we were at Hospital No. 1.
Hospital No. 1 lay on a piece of rising, wooded
ground on the west side of the East Bay road
that runs along the shore of Bataan. There were
four or five wooden buildings that had been used
at one time as a maneuver center for the 14th
Engineers. These were used mainly for service
units and as quarters for doctors and nurses.
The patients were in wards with open sides in a
clearing among the trees. About a week before
we moved down alongside the hospital area, it
had been bombed by the Nips; there was still the
ghastly shell hole where once had been one of
the wards, and some of the buildings, too, were
damaged. On the eighth there was a lot of plane
activity – the bombing of roads and areas adjacent
to the hospital, but there were no casualties in the
hospital or the clearance company area.
That night, the night of the eighth, began the
24 hours of chaos that ended in the surrender. It
was a black, moonless night. The main road outside the hospital area was jammed with vehicles
and swarms of stragglers from the Philippine
Army, which should not be confused with the
Philippine Division. Our outfit was part of the
United States Army; the Philippine Army was an
all-Filipino force.
ammunition destroyed
The Scouts, together with the Philippine Army
and the purely American outfits comprised the
USAFFE – the United States Armed Forces
of the Far East.
The Philippine Army soldiers had done excellent service, but by this time had been, in part,
reduced to an ill-equipped force, garbed in little
or almost nothing – many of the men identifiable
as soldiers only because they carried rifles. I
mention this because of what happened a few
hours later. Word was passed that ammunition
dumps would be blown up, the small stuff start-
ing at midnight and the big bombs at 2 o’clock.
About 10 o’clock the commissary outfits began
passing out food to everybody – a big extra meal,
all you wanted. And it was as we sat there beside
the road in the darkness, eating and watching the
streaming traffic headed for Mariveles, that the
earthquake came.
If you have never been in an earthquake, you
can’t understand the terror it brings. The ground
rocked with the tremors; and they had scarcely
subsided when came the first sharp percussions
of the small-arms ammunition from the dumps
above us, staccato above the rumble of trucks on
the road and the voices of the men. For an hour
or more it kept up, and then the heavy detonation of the exploding bomb dumps and the other
heavy stuff. There were flashes of light in the
black sky. And as we look off across the bay, we
could see the fires blazing on Corregidor. Finally
the 14-inch guns at Fort Drum contributed their
thunder, shelling the road up above us to hinder
the movement of the Nips.
The last day, the 9th, began with everybody
utterly fatigued, mentally shaken and confused.
We knew that the end must be near, but that is
all we knew.
But at 8 o’clock that morning (and this, as I later
learned, was some hours before Maj. Gen. E. B.
King, then in command on Bataan, had formally
surrendered), while Nip planes were still dropping
bombs and hostilities had obviously not ended,
down the road past the hospital came a line of
trucks flying white flags. Every truck was loaded
with men, apparently Philippine Army men.
It was the first sign of surrender, the first of
many puzzles of that day.
bombs still fall
Bombs were still falling and there was what
sounded like machine gun fire along the roads as
the Jap planes came in low. Yet the roads weren’t
damaged, and we couldn’t see any sign of casualties among those passing us, and no casualties
were coming into the hospital. And I remember
thinking. “They’re not machine-gunning the
traffic, they’re dropping firecrackers to cause
confusion.” You can see how men think under
these circumstances.
2 | 24 hours of chaos and mystery preceded u.s. surrender of bataan
�It was then that my first suspicion was aroused.
Those trucks with the white flags! Were the men in
the trucks Filipinos, or were they Japs? If they were
prisoners, why did they have their rifles?
And I wasn’t the only one to wonder. Somebody
said, “Those birds were Japs.”
I thought, “Maybe they were Filipinos all right,
but the Japs tricked them, and sent them with the
flags to cause confusion down the line.” But then
I recalled (perhaps it was all imagination) that they
had been too clean to have come out of foxholes.
Maybe, I thought, they weren’t Philippine Army
boys but civilians the Nips had picked up and
rigged out as phony soldiers.
Set down this way, these events and ideas may
look distinct and consecutive. Actually it was all
confused. Even a few days later we couldn’t recall
exactly the order in which things occurred.
I remember the reaction of a sergeant who stood
beside me as we watched those trucks go by with
the white flags. He was a hardened old-timer, with
long years in the Regular Army. He broke down
and cried, wept openly.
“It’s all over,” was all that he said. “It’s all over.”
I guess that’s the way we all felt, and maybe it
would have been better if we all had wept.
By this time the road was clear. The stream of
traffic had dwindled.
About 10 o’clock three tanks, each flying a
Japanese flag, came down the road. The first went
on, and I never saw it again. The other two stopped
in front of the entrance to the hospital area and
swung their turret guns our way.
Japanese officers and men climbed out of the
tanks, and with them came an American officer –
at least a man dressed in the uniform of a major
of the United States Army.
german decoy
The commandant of Hospital No. 1, accompanied by his adjutant and other officers, including
the regular chaplain of the hospital, went out to
meet the newcomers; and I, playing Mickey the
Dunce, went along with them. I just didn’t belong
there, but had to see what was going on. Shortly I
came to regret it.
The Japs, who spoke excellent grammatical English, but with the usual Nip accent, announced that
they had come to accept the hospital’s surrender.
Down by the tanks there was speechmaking. A
Nip stuck his head out of a turret and opened up in
English of sorts. I recall only his peroration: “Damn
Roosevelt! Damn Roosevelt! Damn Roosevelt!”
The man in the major’s uniform stayed back
with the tanks; but I heard someone say that he
was Maj. So-and-So. It was a name I’d never heard
in our Army, but was close to that of an officer I
had been told was in the Philippines. Back at Fort
Riley, in the States, a friend had urged me to look
the officer up when I hit Manila. I figured that this
probably was my man, so I went up to him.
“You’re just the man I’ve been looking for,”
I said.
“Yes?”
I told him that a friend at Fort Riley had asked
me to look him up.
“Where’s Fort Riley?” he said.
Now it’s hard for me to believe, even today, when
I can look at things more evenly, that any Army
man would ask “Where is Fort Riley?” I was immediately convinced (and I’m still wondering about it)
that the United States major was a German and a
decoy, and that it was all part of a trick to add to
the confusion. If it was, then it certainly worked,
and I was in the middle of some of it in a very
few minutes.
The Japs said: “We want an officer detailed
to go with us to identify the commander
at Mariveles.”
“Let the chaplain go,” one of the officers replied.
But by that time the regular hospital chaplain had
moved off. So I, who really had no business to be
there, was elected to make the trip.
The Japs requisitioned the hospital’s Buick. I got
in with the two officers, and the driver started off at
a terrific clip. It was then that I got my first close-up
of things to come.
There was a body ahead of us in the road –
the body of a Filipino soldier. The driver made
no attempt to avoid it. With a thump and a quick
swerve he drove right over it.
planes fill the sky
Our troops were all along the road, but off
at the side. Two or three times we met sizable
contingents of American troops, and the Japs
3 | 24 hours of chaos and mystery preceded u.s. surrender of bataan
�ordered the car stopped, climbed out – I with
them – and informed the American officers
that the war was ended.
“We’ll have your sidearms,” they said to
the officers.
But there was plenty of fight in our boys,
confused as they were at having seen the trucks
and white flags go through, and by this sudden
appearance now of the Jap officers. I explained
to them what I knew of the situation, and
they themselves could see that they hadn’t
much choice.
Overhead the sky was full of Jap planes, circling
and diving, but only rarely now dropping bombs.
I can remember the thought that ran through my
mind as we stood there. One of the last books that I
had read pictured the scenes in Belgium in the dark
days when the British were being evacuated over
the beaches – how the air was filled with German
bombers pounding the troops on the crowded roads
and on the beaches, and the Nazi fighters coming in
low and strafing them . . . and not a friendly plane
in sight. And I thought, “Here we are now in the
same box.” If the boys attempted to resist, the Jap
bombers over us would come in for the slaughter.
Our officers finally handed over their sidearms,
and the Japs tossed them on the floor in the back of
the car. No attempt was made to disarm the men.
Before you get in to Mariveles there is a sort of
cutoff that runs over to the west side road on the
other side of Bataan. And it was close to that point
that we met the man in the white suit.
This is what happened – and what it meant I still
can’t figure out. Leaning against a rail fence, right
at the side of the road, stood a man in an immaculate white linen suit. He was either a Filipino or a
Jap. He held in his hand a small silk Japanese flag.
Our car drew up to him and stopped. The chauffeur reached out, took the flag, and patted the man
on the shoulder. The man smiled. Not a word was
spoken. Then we drove on.
treachery
“More treachery,” I thought. Where did he come
from and what was he doing? Was he there to direct
those trucks?
Somewhere along here was another body in the
road. This time I knew what to expect, so I asked
the driver to stop. I pulled the body off to the side.
Just above Mariveles lay the last of our Bataan
airfields, protected at its upper end by anti-aircraft
guns. The Japs removed the sights, checked the
ammunition boxes, made some notes in books they
carried and then we rode on towards the other end
of the field.
There an American officer was standing alone,
in the middle of the road – an officer I had known
intimately for a long time. He is now dead.
“Jim,” I said, “these men want to find the officer
in command of the Mariveles area. Do you know
where he is?”
“I am in command,” he said. “Gen. King is
down the road but he left me in full command.
I have complete authority.”
There was something odd about his manner.
Odder still his talk about being in command. I told
him that Gen. King couldn’t be down the road; that
King was up above us somewhere. But he insisted
that the General was in the area.
“I have complete authority,“ he repeated.
“You’ll sign for the surrender of Mariveles?”
the Nips asked him.
I figured the officer had gone completely berserk.
“Look here, Jim,” I said, “you haven’t authority
to surrender.”
He was indignant.
“I have full authority to surrender Mariveles;
I can surrender Corregidor,” he told the Japs.
“Here, you write it on this paper,” they said and
they gave him a sheet of paper. “You give us the
written surrender of Mariveles and Corregidor.”
But I told them we’d better find the General.
The four of us got into the car and we started
on – past a place where some of our men and some
Filipinos were gathered in a field. The trucks with
the white flags were there by the side of the road,
empty. The Filipinos – the same ones I assumed,
whom I had seen go past in them – were standing
around the trucks, still carrying rifles.We’d gone no
more than a kilometer when the Japs yelled to stop
the car.
“General not here,” they said. “Don’t try
treachery.”
But the officer still insisted that Gen. King was
there on that road. And I tried to make him understand that King must be up far to the north of us.
4 | 24 hours of chaos and mystery preceded u.s. surrender of bataan
�“I am in command here,” the officer continued to
say. “I’m boss. Do as I say. We’ll go on and find him.”
The Japs wanted to know how far.
“About a kilometer,” Jim said. “You’ll find the
General in a little hut on the right of the road.”
But the Japs refused to budge. They said to me:
“You go and find the General and bring him here.”
I found neither the hut nor the General.
When I came back the Nips said, “Did he sign?”
“He isn’t there,” I told them.
So we started on again, across to the west
side road and swung up towards what was called
Signal Hill.
refused to quit
There was an MP post at the foot of a side road
that swung off inland toward the hills. There we
inquired for the General (no name mentioned; the
Nips said they wanted to meet any General in the
area) and were directed towards the hill.
About 200 yards in on the road the Japs got jittery
again, talked about treachery, and directed me to
go on and find the General. So I went on, on foot.
It was a steaming hot day. How far up in the
hills I went I don’t exactly know. Perhaps two miles.
I had been discharged from the hospital only
10 days before – malaria – and by the time I reached
Gen. Lough’s command post on Signal Hill, I went
berserk myself, I guess.
I remember that the officers there told me they
knew nothing about a surrender, that they were
going to fight it out.
“You go out and take your two Nips back where
you got ‘em,” they told me.
I remember starting down the hill, and getting
into one of our own cars, driven by a non-com.
When we reached the spot where I’d left the Buick
with the two Japs and my friend Jim, they were not
in sight. I never saw any of them again.
At the MP post they said the Japs hadn’t gone
through there. It sounds fantastic, but that’s
what happened.
When we got back to the concentration area I
spoke of (where the trucks were) we were held up
by an MP.
“No traffic is to go through, north or south,”
the MP said. “A Geneva Convention car came
through and left orders.”
“I’ve got to get to the hospital,” I told him.
“We’ll have to go through.”
He said all right, if I’d take the responsibility.
I got back to Hospital No. 1 about 5 that afternoon. One of the Nip tanks was still there, only
it had moved off the road into the hospital area.
I found that everything was really ended. It was
all over. The Japs had given orders that all but
the medical staff and patients must get out. The
hospital held me as a patient and there I was to
stay until late in June.
That’s how I missed the Death March.
introductory note
Fr. Dugan, a native of South Boston and a priest
of the Jesuit Province of New England, begins today
that part of his story which deals with prison life
under the Japs. In yesterday’s Globe he described
the chaos of the last day of the Bataan defense and
of finding himself in the late afternoon of April 9,
1942, a patient and a prisoner at Field Hospital
No. 1, on the lower east side of the peninsula.
Now, step by step, he will carry us through
34 months of life in various Japanese camps in
Luzon – first in hospital No. 1, later in the Bilibid
of Manila, and then in two camps near Cabanatuan.
His imprisonment ended when he and 510 others
were rescued from Cabanatuan by Rangers, Alamo
Scouts and guerrillas.
The great feature of Fr. Dugan’s story is its
detail. Every phase of prison life is explained. For
instance: Could prisoners get eyeglasses? Did they
have to work hard? What happened when shoes
wore out? These are a few of hundreds of questions
this story answers.
5 | 24 hours of chaos and mystery preceded u.s. surrender of bataan
�6 | 24 hours of chaos and mystery preceded u.s. surrender of bataan
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter two
Captors Seized Food and Medicine;
Left Patients on Bataan Only Rice
T
HE PERIOD SPENT AS A PATIENT IN HOSPITAL NO. 1, LITTLE BAGUIO – FROM
APRIL 9, THE DAY OF BATAAN SURRENDER, TO JUNE 19 – might be characterized as
the period of complete blackout. I use the word in a sense that is new to me, but which I find has
come into use while I was out of touch with American life – meaning a complete isolation
from news contacts.
Later in our period of imprisonment we came
to know, through the “grapevine” telegraph of the
friendly Filipinos, and the constant shifting of
groups from one prison to another, something of
what was going on in the islands. We knew pretty
well where our friends were, and how they were
faring. But in the weeks at No.1 we were wholly
out of touch with the outside world.
Actually we knew practically nothing of what went
on outside our little hospital area.
Perhaps you think of Field Hospital No. 1 as a
big, roomy area. Actually it was small and crowded.
It had a frontage on the East Bay road of perhaps
200 or 250 yards and extended back, up a gradual
slope, for a quarter-mile or less – probably less. I
am no judge of distance. The rough map, while not
accurate, will give a general idea of the layout.
rumors “truly wonderful”
One result of this was a crop of daily rumors
that were (as we later discovered) truly wonderful.
One day we learned that a Red Cross ship was at
Manila, ready to take all hospital patients back to
the States. Then came the story that two Red Cross
ships had been allowed to come into Manila Bay
and that they were loaded with medicines and food
for all prisoners of war. We heard that Tokyo had
been bombed. Next, that a complete division of
Negro troops had come out from the States and was
about to land on Mindanao. These are just a few
samples of the stories current in this period.
nurses sent to corregidor
There were two important changes just before,
and on the day of the surrender. The women nurses
of the Army who had been quartered in a small
wooden building next to the big ward, were sent
away by boat to Corregidor early in the evening of
the 8th. Their quarters were taken over by the Army
hospital corpsmen. And what had been the quarters
for 15 or 20 Jap sick or wounded prisoners up to the
end, now became the ward for officer patients.
There were perhaps 500 of us in the hospital
as I now remember it. The main ward had about
300 patients, and there were perhaps 60 of us in
7 | captors seized food and medicine, left patients on bataan only rice
�the officers ward. A temporary ward must have
sheltered 100. There were 20 or 25 doctors, maybe
30 Army medical corpsmen and other hospital
workers. The dental officer was a Navy man. He
also served as the supply officer.
Everybody at the hospital certainly missed those
wonderful nurses. Doctors and patients had been
sorry to see them go, yet were delighted to know
that they were to be in what was, supposedly, the
perfect security of Corregidor.
I knew them all, for though never officially
attached to the hospital, I had been a frequent
visitor there; and as some of the girls were from
around Boston we often had interesting times
talking about home, and the places and persons
we knew.
they met next in boston
Helen Cassiani of Bridgewater was one of
them – a lovely girl. They all were. I saw Helen
that last day, and the next time I saw her was back
in Boston, almost three years later. We talked then
about Dr. Wallace’s watch.
My watch had broken early in the Bataan defense. Dr. John Wallace, a doctor with the 31st
Infantry, had a spare and loaned it to me. Talking
with Helen on the 8th, I discovered that she had no
watch. So I gave her the doctor’s watch, thinking
that as she was going to safety on the Rock it would
be the surest way to save it. I never gave another
thought to the watch until a few days after I arrived
back in San Francisco, when I met Wallace. He, too,
had been a prisoner, but had come back in a ship
which followed mine into the Golden Gate. Wallace
made no mention of it; but Helen talked about the
watch. She had managed to keep it all through her
own prison days, and then had given it to someone
at Santo Tomas just before she left. I think Helen
was worried about how I was going to square myself with Capt. Wallace, but I tried to reassure her.
Wallace certainly never expected to see that watch
again when he gave it to me. I tell all this because
these are the little things that those of us who have,
through God’s mercy, survived Japanese imprisonment will be talking about among ourselves for the
rest of our days.
Then there was Letha McHale of New Hampshire, who has relatives in Boston. I didn’t see her
again until I reported at Letterman General
Hospital on my arrival in San Francisco. She too
had just got back. Helen and Letha were on the
same transport that carried me to the Philippines.
laundered altar linens
In those bad days on Bataan, when I was
saying Mass under all sorts of difficulties, Helen
came to the rescue by volunteering to launder my
altar linens whenever I could get them back to her.
Busy as she was, she somehow managed it.
There were six clergymen at the hospital when
our captivity began – Rev. Frank Tiffany, the Protestant chaplain of the unit; Fr. John McDonnell of
Brooklyn, the Catholic chaplain; Fr. Stanley Reilly
of San Francisco, who had been chaplain of the
Philippine Division (of which I had been assistant
chaplain), and then three of us who were classified
as patients, Fr. Walter J. O’Brien of San Francisco,
Fr. William Cummings, a Maryknoll Father who
had been hit by shrapnel when the Japs wiped out
one of the hospital’s wards with a bomb hit a week
before, and myself. (Fr. Cummings, who only
three days ago was reported missing by the
Maryknoll Fathers in New York, will appear again in
Fr. Dugan’s story. When I told Fr. Dugan that the “no
atheists in foxholes” remark had been attributed to
Fr. Cummings, he said that the phrase was current
at a later period in his captivity, but that he had never
heard with whom it originated. – W. de Lue.)
You may wonder that both chaplains of the
Philippine Division were there. What had become
of the division? Well, it had sort of evaporated. In
the campaign it had never operated as a division.
Its units, the 45th and 57th Infantry of Philippine
Scouts, the 14th Engineers and the 12th Quartermasters outfit had been scattered for work in
different parts of the area. The 12th, for instance,
I never did see after the Jap invasion got underway.
When a Filipino soldier got cut off by the Nips
all he had to do was shed his uniform to become
a peaceable civilian. When the surrender came a
great many of our boys got up into the hills, worked
their way north, and, I’m told, did effective work
as guerrillas.
patients put on rice diet
In the morning of our first day as prisoners the
8 | captors seized food and medicine, left patients on bataan only rice
�Japs (1) raised their flag on a little staff near the
operating building and (2) put us on a diet of rice.
They had carried off practically all of our own food
and medical supplies.
We got our first rice about 8 that morning
(April10) – boiled rice in a tasteless liquid that
seemed to be nothing more than the water in which
it had been cooked. We got rice again and in the
same style between 3:30 and 4 o’clock that afternoon. That continued to be our diet. Two meals a
day of rice for doctors, corpsmen and patients alike.
That morning Col. James W. Duckworth, the
commandant, came to the officers’ ward and talked
to us, as he had to all the other groups. He said that
he would do everything he could to make the best
of the situation, but that everything depended upon
the attitude of the Japs. He explained about the rice
diet and urged any who might have any private
food supplies to give them up to the hospital
commissary. Anyone found eating between meals
would be severely punished.
While at Hospital No. 1 most of us saw very
little of the Japs. Non-coms made rounds of
inspection, but there was no molestation. This was
by direct orders of the Japanese officers, who had
been impressed by the good reports from their own
men who had been cared for at Hospital No. 1. They
had been given exactly the same treatment as our
own casualties.
That first day the road in front of the hospital
was packed with horse-drawn Japanese artillery,
moving down below to take up positions as close as
possible to Corregidor. We were told that the guns
were lined up hub-to-hub; certainly within 24 hours
they opened up with a roar that was continuous day
and night.
battery endangered hospital
Somewhere in the hills right back of the hospital
the Nips had set up a battery of heavy guns – so
close to us that we got the concussions when they
went off. Their shells whistled over us.
Col. Duckworth protested vigorously to the Jap
doctor, pointing out that if American guns attempted
to reply, the hospital would be endangered.
“The Japanese,” he was informed, “didn’t put
the hospital here.”
The heavy guns at Ft. Drum did open up, and
for a time the artillery duel raged right over our
heads. I think the guns at Ft. Drum finally knocked
out the Jap battery, because after a few days we
heard no more from it. But the thunder along the
East Shore road never really let up until the fall of
Corregidor, May 6.
must bow to their captors
We had been told how to act when the Japs
showed up. We were to bow politely to them, not
servilely, but courteously. If you happened to be
seated when a Jap officer entered, you’d jump to
your feet and bow.
Within our hospital area the staff and patients
who could get around were not restricted as to
movement. A Japanese major, a doctor, was in
control of the hospital, but paid us only occasional
visits. The administration was wholly in the hands
of our own Army men.
Col. Duckworth, a veteran of the last war and
a splendid officer, did a masterly job in those days.
With nothing to work with, he somehow managed
to keep the hospital in excellent shape. That
conditions at Little Baguio were as good as they
were is due to his inspiring leadership.
9 | captors seized food and medicine, left patients on bataan only rice
�10 | captors seized food and medicine, left patients on bataan only rice
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter three
Nips Did a Brisk Business in Stolen U. S. Cigarettes;
How Yanks Starved on Rice
E
VERYBODY WHO WAS ABLE TO GET AROUND, REPAIRED, PATCHED AND
FIXED UP THE LITTLE BAGUIO HOSPITAL AS BEST WE COULD WITH FEW
TOOLS AND LESS MATERIALS The big ward building was overcrowded; all its doubledeck bunks were filled. Though from the night of the surrender no new patients were supposed
to be admitted, a few were allowed through for a day or so – mostly cases of exhaustion. Heart cases,
some of them.
So we built a new small ward near the building used as an operating room. The new ward had
a dirt floor, but we managed to get wood enough
to make a roof. The sides were open; and we built
rough double-deck bunks with 2-by-4s.
Later we tacked on a sort of screened porch to
the lower end of the officers’ ward, which we used
as a mess. And the boys constructed an open
shelter for the altar – a sort of shell – with sides
of army shelter halves and a nipa thatch roof.
rice diet causes illness
It wasn’t long after the surrender of Bataan
before most of those in the area began to feel the
effects of the rice diet. Everybody lost weight, and
dysentery was prevalent. There were no adequate
medical supplies, and the few things available went
to the most desperately ill cases. At times surgical
dressings were about nonexistent. Col. Duckworth
and his men labored heroically, and offset some of
these handicaps by the unflagging care given to
the patients.
A big tent shelter was erected near the middle
of the area for the care of dysentery cases; and
when cases of amoebic dysentery were discovered,
or suspected, an isolation shelter was established a
short distance outside the area.
Though rice was the staple, once in a while we’d
get a little surprise. One time the boys made the
rice into a sort of flour, added a bit of sugar, and
produced cookies. We’d get one cookie at each meal
as long as they lasted.
For a short time, at noon, we had “tea.” It was made
of leaves or herbs, and we thought it was wonderful.
japs sell u. s. cigarettes
Then one day it was announced that the Japs
were going to allow one of the doctors to go into
Manila to get some medical supplies. The man
picked to make the trip was Capt. George Raider, a
North Carolinian. So we made a collection among
us, and gave him the money. We figured he might
be able to buy some food or smokes.
11 | nips did a brisk business in stolen u. s. cigarettes; how yanks starved on rice
�In the first few weeks we had managed to keep
in cigarettes. Most of the men had a few packs
on hand when confinement began; and almost
immediately afterwards Jap soldiers made their
way into the area selling cigarettes – good
American cigarettes that they’d either stolen
from our men or from our stores. That lasted for
about a week or 10 days. Then the Jap non-coms
tried to put a stop to it, and were fairly effective;
but I’m sure that there was still some secret traffic
because Chesterfields and Camels were occasionally
turning up. Now we waited hopefully for Dr. Raider
to return, and I remember the general disappointment at the first news – that the supply of medical
stores brought back was nothing like what was
needed. It meant that as the days wore on patients
would be getting weaker, the sick list getting longer
perhaps, and the death list, too.
close to 100 deaths there
I kept no records because until I left there I had
no official connection with the hospital staff. Even
when I was not actually ill I continued to be rated
as a patient and was quartered in the ward. Yet as a
chaplain and as a priest I was always active among
the men. And I participated, with the other chaplains, in most of the burial services. My recollection
is that in the 10 weeks at Little Baguio there were
close of 100 burials. Assuming my recollection to
be right, this meant about a 20 percent mortality.
The cemetery was in a small grass plot close to
the main road at the lower end of the area – the
southeast corner.
Though the news about the medical supplies was
disheartening, the other results of Dr. Raider’s mission were better. He had managed to buy a small
amount of candy, some cigars, and a supply of Philippine cigarettes. I think everybody in the camp got a
couple of pieces of candy and one cigar. The cigarettes
were distributed to the patients – one each day as long
as they lasted, which was about two weeks.
As conditions outside settled down after the fall
of Corregidor more freedom was allowed. Some of
the corpsmen went outside and bought bananas,
which were then plentiful. Another time they
brought back pineapples; there was a slice apiece
for everybody, and an extra supply for the patients
who most needed it.
japs permitted carabao hunt
One day they let some of the corpsmen go out
with rifles, with the Japs, to “hunt carabao.” The
carabao is a domesticated water buffalo, and what
the process of hunting them was, I don’t know.
Perhaps it was just another name for foraging.
Neither do I know that they brought back any
carabao meat. If they did, it went to the patients.
In spite of these minor additions to the diet the
general physical condition of everybody was on the
downgrade. I mentioned loss of weight. In my case
I dropped from about 155 pounds (I was 15 pounds
under my normal weight of 170 at the end of the
Bataan fighting) to 128 pounds in early June, 27
pounds in two months. Probably I went lower in
the next two weeks or so.
But if the weight went down, if there were
illnesses sometimes progressively getting worse, the
spirit of the men never wavered. I don’t mean that
we were in high spirits, for the very wall of silence
with which we were cut off from almost everything
outside our hospital gate was depressing. We kept
asking ourselves what was going on. Wondering this.
Wondering that. And never getting an answer except
the rumors.
After some weeks there was one rumor that,
before long, some of us learned to be true: that
conditions at Camp O’Donnell were deplorable
and the death rate there high.
jap flag made men boil
Yet in spite of that wall of silence and the
general air of unbelieving wonderment at our
position, the men were unbroken in spirit. The
Jap flag flying in the middle of the area made them
boil; the remarks that were passed about it never
would pass the censor. That flag, instead of lowering morale, raised it.
One night in either late May or early June word
was passed that the Japs were going to move out
a group of prisoners; we understood to Manila.
I guess there were 50 in the group, but I never
did know by what process they were selected.
The names were read. Among them was that of
Fr. O’Brien, who had been there as a patient. He
had been quartered with me. The group pulled out
in trucks about 11 at night. We learned afterwards
that they had gone to O’Donnell.
12 | nips did a brisk business in stolen u. s. cigarettes; how yanks starved on rice
�Then came June 19 and my last day at
Little Baguio.
Everybody knew that another detail was being
shipped out. The list this time was a long one, and
my name was on it. I’m really only guessing, but
there must have been 250 or more of us. I hastily
packed my Mass kit (altar stone, chalice, vestments,
etc.) in its case, threw my personal belongings into
a barracks bag and a musette case. Then we lined
up and were checked off.
There was a line of trucks out in the road. There
were a couple of men on stretchers in my truck,
and a dozen or more others, with all the luggage.
We pulled out in the middle of the morning,
traveled through the heat of the day, and about 5 that
afternoon our truck column swung under the brick
arch and through the gates of Bilibid, in Manila.
13 | nips did a brisk business in stolen u. s. cigarettes; how yanks starved on rice
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter four
Sympathy Shows in Faces of Filipinos
as Prisoners Start Trip to Cabanatuan
T
O THE SICK, WHO MADE UP THE GREATER PART OF OUR GROUP FROM
HOSPITAL NO. 1 AT LITTLE BAGUIO, OUR ARRIVAL AT BILIBID WAS A GREAT
DISAPPOINTMENT. We had known that we were headed for Manila, and there had been talk
of a hospital; so we figured that it would be one of the modern hospitals of the city where the
seriously ill would get good care. Everyone at No. 1 had done all that could be done, but the place was at
best a collection of shacks that had been hastily converted to hospital purposes.
But now here we were, at Bilibid. To digress
for the moment: I have, since getting home, seen
accounts that mentioned “Bilibid Prison.” The
“prison” is superfluous. Bilibid means prison.
Once the principal penal institution, but had
been abandoned for some years. One or two of the
buildings may have been used, because I recall
seeing a sign that said “Government Printing
Office,” or something like that. We quickly discovered that the Japanese now called it a hospital. They
had turned it over to United States Navy doctors,
and referred to it as the Naval Hospital Unit. But
the place had no hospital facilities whatsoever.
roof and windows gone
There was a high cement or brick wall around
the grounds, which our truck convoy entered by
passing beneath a massive archway and two sets
of iron gates. There was still another wall dividing
the grounds. Then we halted before what had been
at some time the prison hospital – a three-story
building, its windows all out, its roof falling apart
so that the upper floor was exposed to the elements.
In bad weather the rain percolated down through
the floor to the second story; and if there was any
wind behind the rain, it drove through the gaping
windows everywhere.
We got out of the trucks, were lined up and
counted, and then were ordered to take over the
second floor. The stairs went up in the middle, and
on each side was a big, bare room. There wasn’t a
cot. A few mattresses were on the floor, but only a
few. Sick patients, some of them, had to be placed
on the plain cold floor. Most of us just dumped our
bags, and that was our spot. I remember one poor
fellow, desperately ill with malaria, who had looked
forward to a fine hospital. He could look forward
now only to death.
At Bilibid we experienced a new atmosphere.
There had been a freedom of movement, a certain
informality at Little Baguio, almost no interference
by the Japs. Here we were under the eyes of Jap
sentries with fixed bayonets. They surrounded the
prison, were in the grounds and came through the
14 | sympathy shows in faces of filipinos as prisoners start trip to cabanatuan
�wards, and we’d have to stand up and make
our bows to them. And there was a great deal of
slapping around by Jap non-coms for the least
infraction of rules.
At Little Baguio we were never counted in
groups. Here they started “bango” – roll call.
Our initiation to bango came the next morning.
At daybreak everybody had to line up – the well and
the sick – and be counted. First we were checked
by our senior officer (under orders of the Japs, of
course) and then we had to stand there until the
Japs counted us, AND ALL THE OTHERS IN
THE ENTIRE PRISON – several buildings.
The Jap non-com would finally arrive at the total
and depart, but we still had to stand until he went
to the prison headquarters and compared his count
with the books. If there was any variation (as there
commonly was), he’d start the count all over again.
Sometimes there were three counts before he got
things to suit him. And the sick prisoners would
be standing there in line for close to an hour.
After bango came breakfast. Rice.
must stay near building
We found that we could leave the building,
but had to stay close to it in the yard. We were
forbidden to go near other buildings in which
prisoners were housed; but they, or, rather, the
doctors among them, did visit us.
We learned that morning from the naval doctors that the place was devoid of medicines. The
commandant, Commander Lea B. Sartin, a doctor
of the Navy Medical Corps, visited us and pleaded
for quinine, or any medication we might have. He
needed quinine especially, and vitamin tablets. He
told us that large numbers were dying from malaria
and there was nothing with which to treat them.
Noon, and more rice. We got three meals a day
at Bilibid – rice, morning, noon and at about 5 in
the afternoon, served dry. At noon and at 5 o’clock
the rice was supplemented by some water (I suppose it was intended as broth) with greens stewed
up in it.
For a week or 10 days after our arrival, Filipinos
managed to get in past the heavy guards – they
must have bribed them – with fruit and candy,
which they sold to those who had any funds. These
were the first friendly persons we had seen, our
first contact of any sort with the outside world since
the fall of Bataan. It was amazing how much this
chance to buy this penny candy and to exchange a
few words with the Filipinos did to cheer everybody.
While our first impression of Bilibid was “now
we’re really locked up” (because of the wall around
us), this touch with the outside world, and the
knowledge that around us was a great city whose
noises we could hear, and whose lights we could
see, made us feel that we were really getting back
into civilization after our exile and the silences
of Baguio.
Some of the prisoners who had been here
before us and also men attached to the hospital unit
managed to get around in the area; and a few took
advantage of the chance to earn a peso or two, as
most of them were without funds. They’d buy a box
of candy from a Filipino, paying perhaps five pesos
(about $2.50) and would make the rounds selling it
by the piece. They might clear a couple of pesos on
the turnover.
There was another way we got some things.
Work details were sent our nearly every day to labor
in the port area. They got an opportunity to do a
little buying; one day I gave one of the boys a peso
and he got eight or 10 cigars for me – and pretty
good ones, too. It wasn’t much more than the
normal price.
We had bango first thing every morning, then
after dinner and after supper – three times every
day. And the same long drawn out procedure every
time. We could feel the pressure of the routine.
he could visit the sick
At Bilibid I could say Mass only on Sunday,
whereas at Little Baguio I said Mass every day. Yet
since I was the only chaplain now at Bilibid I was
permitted to visit the sick in the other wards and to
officiate at all burials.
The other buildings in the prison yard were
mainly long narrow one-story wooden structures,
in which the patients lay head to the wall and feet
toward the middle, with a clear space from end to
end. Some of the men had mattresses, others lay
on their blankets on the floor. Many of them had
no proper clothing.
The Navy medical men were doing a wonderful
work. A pharmacist’s mate was in charge of each
15 | sympathy shows in faces of filipinos as prisoners start trip to cabanatuan
�ward building, of which there were six or seven, as
I recall it. In some mysterious way, Com. Sartin and
his corpsmen managed to keep the entire Bilibid
setup in excellent condition and were carrying on
the best United States Navy traditions as far as
sanitation and general cleanliness went.
Out of the odds and ends they had built a long
flush latrine – an open depression, at the end of
which they had rigged an automatic flusher. Half of
a gasoline drum had been set in such a way that a
steady stream of water from the city mains flowed
into it. When it filled, it tipped, flushing the latrine;
and when empty it swung back into position to fill,
and so kept up this cleaning process day and night.
It is impossible to say too much in praise of the
Navy men, who had been at Bilibid since early in
January. At the outbreak of war part of this Navy
medical unit had been in a hospital near Cavite.
Bombed out, they had set up their hospital at the
St. Scholastica girls’ school in Manila, and there
they remained until the Japs occupied the city.
16 | sympathy shows in faces of filipinos as prisoners start trip to cabanatuan
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter five
Handed Ball of Rice and Sent with
Corregidor Men to Notorious Cabanatuan
C
OM. SARTIN, NAVY DOCTOR IN CHARGE AT BILIBID, IN MANILA, TOLD ME
THAT AFTER THE FALL OF CORREGIDOR THE JAPS PLANNED TO BRING ALL
THE UNITED STATES ARMY NURSES TO BILIBID. There would have been no chance
there of any privacy for them and Sartin argued for days with the Japs before he convinced them
that the move would be a mistake. So the nurses were sent to Santa Tomas, with the civilian internees.
Though hospital facilities were wholly lacking,
the mortality rate at Bilibid was not high while I
was there. I think I buried about 30 men (I had the
list, but lost it when I fled from Cabanatuan); they
lie in a little plot inside the prison wall.
One big advantage at Bilibid was the adequate
supply of city water. Water hadbeen a problem at
Hospital No. 1; and later you will see what we were
faced with at Cabanatuan. It was the plentiful water
supply here that had made possible the ingenious
latrine flushing system rigged up by the Navy men,
which I have previously mentioned.
They also had improvised some very fine showers – one set in front of our old hospital building,
another, as I recall it, near the front part of the
prison. Cleanliness has always been a Navy boast,
and they were in true form even here at Bilibid.
ordered to country
We slept in our clothes, with just a blanket
under us; and I can still recall the joy of getting
down to those showers every morning, and positively luxuriating in the bath after an uncomfortable
night. Then I’d shave, wash the uniform I’d just
shed, get into my other and be presentable. By noon
my first uniform would be dry and I’d be all set for
the next day.
Small groups of prisoners were brought in
from time to time, but on July 2 a large contingent
arrived from Corregidor, and the place became
badly overcrowded. Many of the newcomers were
in terrible condition – disheveled, bearded, clothes
gone, seriously ill.
Ordinarily our lights went out at 9 o’clock. A
small bulb cast a dim glow in each of our two large
second-floor rooms, and there was another bulb
on the stairs. This night they stayed on until 11,
because sleeping space was at a premium and
there had to be some readjustments.
Before lights-out, one of the Navy doctors came
in and said that a detail would leave Bilibid the next
morning. He read the names. The list included
all the men who had just come from Corregidor,
excepting only the most serious cases, and all those
of our Hospital No. 1 group who were in condition
to travel. I could understand now what some of
17 | handed ball of rice and sent with corregidor men to notorious cabanatuan
�the moves meant. The Nips obviously were using
Bilibid as a clearing hospital – operating somewhat
as a clearance company does in the field in sorting
out cases, save that in this instance the worst cases
were held and the others sent along to the prison
camps out in the country.
We got up about 5:30 in the morning of the
3rd of July, went through the long routine of bango,
and then each of us who were going out were given
a ball of rice which was to be our noonday lunch.
The rice had been boiled and steamed and then
pressed into a ball about the size of an indoor
baseball, or a small grapefruit.
sympathy in filipino faces
We had thrown our gear together and everybody
was fairly well loaded down with bags and bundles.
Now we were checked off again, put into trucks and
driven through the streets of Manila to the railroad
station on the north side of the city. It was still early,
but the streets were well filled with people; the day,
in the tropics, gets off to an early start.
To the Filipinos of Manila the sight of long
columns of trucks loaded with American prisoners was no novelty by this time, yet it was clear that
they had not become hardened to it. They made no
demonstration. They knew better, for the slightest sign of hostility to Japan was punishable; and
now Jap soldiers were in the streets and there were
two armed Jap guards on every truck. But we could
see suffering written on the faces of the men and
women and children of Manila as they looked up at
us. And along with the signs of their own travail we
could see their deep sympathy.
At the railroad station we got out, were counted
again, and then carried our baggage down a long
platform to a row of iron freight cars (fully enclosed
box cars, with the usual side doors), and were
ordered to get in. Though the worst of our hospital
cases had been left at Bilibid, many of those in our
party were in bad shape and had to be lifted into
the cars.
50 in car; doors left open
I have heard of many cases in which prisoners were packed into poorly ventilated box cars in
stifling heat, but with us the Nips were pretty good.
Men have since told me that 100 or more were
put into a single car and the doors then closed and
locked. In our case we had only 50 in the car. Again,
they didn’t lock the doors or even close them. As I
keep looking back on my own experiences of these
last 34 months and contrast them with the sufferings of others less fortunate. I know that I have
much to be thankful for.
We left the station about 7 that morning and
rode to the town of Cabanatuan, 60 miles north,
where we arrived about 3 o’clock. It was a hot dry
day, but with the car doors open the trip was not
too bad.
Outside the railroad station we were lined up
and counted and checked, bag and baggage; and
here again luck was with me.
Across from where we stood were two waiting
trucks with American drivers. We knew that we
were heading for one of the two prison camps that
lay off to the east of the town, one of them perhaps
five miles distant, the other still further away. A few
of us, especially those who were priests and had our
Mass kits, were pretty well laden with baggage; we
were all in poor shape physically; nobody looked
forward with optimism to the march in the
hottest part of the afternoon. I kept looking at the
trucks – just two of them. They couldn’t carry all
the baggage.
luggage gets a ride
A Navy chaplain, Fr. Francis J. McManus, from
Cleveland, had ridden up in the same box car with
me. We now stood close to one another in the second row of our lineup, and were about ready to toss
up to see which should abandon his Mass kit, when
I discovered what the trucks were there for. They
were to pick up a few very sick, or the disabled; and
I soon saw that, on the basis of the selections, there
was going to be plenty of room in them. So I tossed
my barracks bag and Mass kit out in front of the
boy who stood in front of me. He had been at Little
Baguio with me from the start of our captivity. His
own baggage was just a small bundle. The boy’s
arm was in a cast.
A Nip non-com came up in front of him.
“Whose is this?” the Nip said, pointing to
the baggage.
“Mine,” the kid told him, though the Mass kit
and barracks bag had my name plastered all over
18 | handed ball of rice and sent with corregidor men to notorious cabanatuan
�them. So the boy got into the truck and the Jap
tossed the luggage in after him. That left me with
only a musette bag. Throughout the march that
followed we helped each other share the burdens.
We started off in columns of fours. It was
terribly hot, and a few dropped out along the road
and, as far as I know, were picked up by the trucks.
They didn’t push us, and we made a couple of
stops. Though we were flanked by Jap guards with
fixed bayonets, I saw no interference from them
and I can report no acts of cruelty.
As we approached the Cabanatuan prison camp,
which lay along the right side of the road on which
we were traveling, we still weren’t sure if this was
our destination.
“Maybe they’re sending us on to No. 3. ?”
we questioned. Camp No. 3 was the smaller area
further along. But then the head of our column
swung off into a side road, leading to the main
gate, and we knew we’d ended our march.
This was soon-to-be notorious Cabanatuan
later known officially as Japanese Military Prison
Camp No. 1.
19 | handed ball of rice and sent with corregidor men to notorious cabanatuan
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter six
Survivors of Death March
Didn’t Want to Remember
I
F YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW SOMETHING OF THE LIVES OF THE THOUSANDS
OF AMERICAN PRISONERS WHO WERE AT CABANATUAN IN THE COURSE OF
THE LAST THREE YEARS, you should acquaint yourself with the general layout of the prison
area. While minor details varied in different periods of its history, Japanese Military Prisoner Camp
No. 1 was laid out just about as shown on the accompanying plan.
It is on the south side of the road leading out of
the town of Cabanatuan, and as we marched over
it in the full heat of that July day we came in sight
of our future home when about four or five miles
from the town.
The first section of the camp (as we later
learned) was the hospital area, its buildings
grouped back from the road and bare, open fields
leading down to where we marched. Passing this,
we came to a central area pretty well filled with
barracks. This was the camp of the Jap guards
and administrators.
Just beyond the Jap area a little road ran off
at right angles through the camp, separating the
Jap section from the third and last area, in which
the non-hospitalized prisoners were confined.
We turned past a Japanese guard station into that
road, marched down it to the main gate (in these
early days well toward the rear of the area) where
we were met by three or four Jap officers and an
American officer, a Major Morey or Maury.
Inside the gate we were separated into three
groups, Army men in one, Navy in another, and
in the third, a number of civilians who were
classified as war prisoners because they had been
employed by various branches of our armed services. American officers told us that we were to open
up our gear for inspection, laying everything out
on the ground. Jap non-coms then went through
our possessions, confiscating all compasses, flashlights, maps and cameras. Some Japs took scissors
and knives also, but others passed them up.
Now we were assigned to barracks. There were
no special arrangements; American officers just
indicated the area we were to occupy (the rear
section of the camp) and we picked our own
barracks building and our own companions.
We discovered that the three classifications had
been made for inspection and check off purposes
only, but in actual practice the men commonly
gravitated into service groups.
The whole camp area, all three sections of it,
occupied a big, open treeless field, practically flat.
20 | survivors of death march didn’t want to remember
�Before the war it had been used by the 81st Division
of the Philippine Army which Gen. MacArthur had
been hastily organizing for the Philippine defense.
My recollection is that the Jap and hospital areas
were unfenced, and at this early period even our
main prison area was enclosed, as I recall it now,
with no more than a rude, barbed wire barrier, later
much strengthened. The barracks buildings and
the few other structures within our enclosure varied
in size but the chief features were the same.
My barracks was perhaps 50 feet long, with an
opening (but no door) at each end, and two openings in each of the long sides. It had a peaked roof
covered with nipa thatch. The sidewalls were of
swali-matting woven of thin pieces of bamboo.
As you stepped in the end opening your feet
were still on the bare ground; the building was
floorless, as were all the others. A narrow aisle ran
down the middle. On each side, about two feet off
the ground, a shelf six feet deep extended in to the
wall. The shelf, made of lengths of bamboo close
together, ran the length of the barrack except where
broken by the side doors. Four feet above each lower shelf was an upper. These were our beds – upper
and lower berths. There were no mattresses, though
a few had been provided for earlier arrivals in the
camp, who were quartered in barracks toward the
front, nearer the main road. At least some of them
had mattresses; how they got them, I don’t know. I
think that one or two in our group coming in from
Bilibid had brought air mattresses in their packs.
But most of us just picked out a sleeping place on
one of the shelves, tossed in our gear, and that was
our place. There were 60 or 70 men in my barracks
that night.
Veterans of the camp warned us of certain
regulations which, they said, the Japs rigidly
enforced – there were to be no lights, no smoking
within 15 feet of any barrack or other building,
and every man was to be in his bunk by 9 at night.
After we got squared away we had supper – plain
boiled rice, dumped into our mess kits. Many of the
men had no regular kits but had picked up plates or
pans that served them well enough. It was dark by
this time. We were directed down through the area
to the nearest galley (set up in an old barracks), got
our portions, carried them back to our place and ate
there sitting on the ground. It was past the usual
eating time, but our galley hands had cooked up
this stuff especially for us, working in the dark.
We went looking for the heads. I have spent so
much time in the past three years serving in camp
areas occupied mainly by Navy and Marine personnel that I find myself commonly using Navy lingo;
to a Navy man the toilet area is the “head,” to the
soldier, a latrine.
I used to get ribbed about it at the camp; and
Fr. John McDonnell of Brooklyn, a Regular Army
chaplain who came to Cabanatuan from Hospital
No. 1 at a period later than that of which I am
writing, had a habit of catching me up on it.
“I knew him when he used to be in the Army,”
he’d say to others.
“Well,” I told him, “I can’t pronounce twosyllable words.”
(Chaplain McDonnell, who will appear again
later, is now a prisoner in Japan.)
Our investigation brought us to a series of
open pits, called P-trenches. Then there were long
trenches with floors built over them. Small holes
were cut in the floors. Conditions were terrible. The
stench, the filth, the flies accounted in part for the
awful death rate at the camp in the Summer and
Fall of that first year. Later things improved, and at
the end there actually were septic tanks installed.
The population of Cabanatuan prison camp at
this time must have been around 8000 in the main
area, with perhaps another 1500 or 2000 in the
hospital area, over beyond the Jap camp. Many of
the men here were survivors of the Death March,
and also of the terrors of Camp O’Donnell, and
it was now that we newcomers got our first real
accounts of what had been going on in the three
months since the Bataan surrender.
The Japs were beginning to shift men from
O’Donnell to Cabanatuan. By the following October
Camp O’Donnell was to be emptied by death or
transfer, and Cabanatuan was to become the main
prison camp in Luzon, officially called Japanese
Military Prison Camp No. 1.
The men from O’Donnell carried memories so
vivid that they strove to put them aside. Some didn’t
want to talk of what they had experienced and seen.
Yet we got stories of how as many as 300 and
400 died there in a day. One man told me that all
21 | survivors of death march didn’t want to remember
�were so ill that often the litter-bearers carrying
the dead to burials would themselves drop dead.
A few months later, here at No. 1, I was to meet
an officer who had been in the Death March with
a close friend of mine, a man with whom I had
traveled to the Philippines, whom I last saw going
into our lines at Lamao on Bataan, grinning and
shouting to me, “Don’t forget to duck!” My friend
hadn’t been able to make the march.
“I didn’t see it,” this man now told me,
“but I heard he dropped out and was bayoneted.
Later I heard he had been buried near Lubao.”
I have mentioned neither names nor ranks, for I
think the first man is still listed as missing, and the
second is now a prisoner in Japan. But this shows
the sort of stories we were getting.
In our group from Manila were five other chaplains – two Protestant, John Borneman, a Methodist
from Philadelphia, whose wife now resides in
Buffalo, and Chaplain Cleveland, both Army men;
and three Catholics. Francis J. McManus of Cleveland, a Navy chaplain, Albert Braun, a Franciscan
who had been working among the Indians in the
Southwest; and Herman C. Bauman. Braun and
Bauman were Army chaplains.
We found a dozen or more other chaplains
at Camp No. 1, men we had not seen since the
surrender. The Protestants included Chaplains
Frederick D. Howden, later transferred to Mindanao where he died. Then there were Frs. Thomas
Scecina of Indianapolis, Henry B. Stober of
Kentucky and Richard E. Carberry of Portland, Ore.
And Fr. Albert D. Talbot, a Sulpician who came
from Fall River, was serving the men in the hospital
area, where he continued to give comfort to the sick
and dying for the next two years. I will have occasion to refer to some of these chaplains as we go on.
22 | survivors of death march didn’t want to remember
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter seven
Everybody in Camp Seemed Ill;
Worst Cases Hospitalized
W
ATER WAS HARD TO GET AT CABANATUAN. THE SUPPLY, PIPED ACROSS
FROM AN ELEVATED TANK IN THE JAP CAMP, WAS AVAILABLE ONLY AT
FOUR OR FIVE TAPS IN THE WHOLE PRISON AREA. There was always a long
line at each outlet, and it was a regular thing to have to stand close to an hour before you
got your turn to fill a canteen. Some of the enlisted men in our barracks volunteered to turn out at 3 in the
morning and go down to the nearest tap with all the canteens they could carry. This helped matters a lot, but
the process of getting the water still was a slow one because our men discovered that they had not originated
the idea. So water, at all times, was carefully treasured. If you wanted a bath, you stood out in the rain.
July had brought in the rainy season, and we
were getting the usually torrential shower every
24 hours, with occasional 48 hour stretches of
steady downpour. Our prison area was in grass,
now showing green under the rains. But the front
section, toward which the ground fell away in a
slight slope, was turned into a quagmire after
each deluge.
I said my first Mass at Cabanatuan early the
second morning, using for an altar an abandoned
Army cook stove. Our barracks evidently had been
at some time the quarters of mess cooks of the
Philippine Army. At the end of the barracks was an
open section where their galley had been. This was
my chapel.
Fr. McManus, who was quartered with me, said
the first Mass that morning. There was a small congregation (less than 20 percent of the men in camp
were Catholics), but there was a sizeable group of
lookers-on, to whom the ceremony was so evidently
new that I explained things as Fr. McManus went
along. I said my Mass after he had finished.
At the time of this first stay in Cabanatuan there
was no fixed place for religious services in our upper (south) end of the camp. I believe this area had
never been tenanted by prisoners until our group
arrived. Within a day or two we set up a temporary
altar under an old shed roof. Some time in the next
few months, while I was away at Camp No. 3, our
boys pulled the end out of a small barracks building, tore out the bunk shelves, built some rough
benches and produced a clean, edifying place in
which to offer divine service. It was used by all the
chaplains, Protestant and Catholic, and served the
men quartered in our section.
At the lower end of the camp (that is, the north
end, fronting on the main road) a little chapel had
been extemporized before our coming. In the middle area services were held in the open until some
time in 1943, when a barracks building that actually
23 | everybody in camp seemed ill; worst cases hospitalized
�bragged a wooden floor was converted to a recreation room. After that services were held there.
The first week at Cabanatuan was devoted by
us newcomers mainly to getting acquainted. Our
impressions – certainly my own – were pretty discouraging. The large numbers who were ill and the
appalling number of daily deaths were depressing.
Everybody in camp seemed to be ill and many
clearly were hospital cases. As far as I could judge,
the only distinction between our area and the hospital area was that they had the worst cases. Ours
were ambulatory cases, that is, they managed to
stay on their feet much of the time. Yet malaria
and dysentery were common and beriberi was
beginning to show. There was general malnutrition. I had no opportunity at this time to get over
to the hospital area, where I was told conditions
were shocking. It was a hospital in little more than
name, for the doctors had neither equipment nor
sufficient medicines with which to work.
Bango, or roll-call, was in evidence here as at
Bilibid, but in a modified form. We had it before
breakfast and again after supper, and it continued
with variations until our rescue. Here, at first, our
own men counted us as we lined up, and then
went down and reported the results to the Japanese
administration building.. We didn’t have to wait for
a possible recheck, as at Bilibid. But much later,
say early in 1944, when our camp population was
reduced and conditions much different, we were
forced to stand in ranks outside our barracks until
the Jap Officer of the Day went through the camps
and made a few spot checks of groups to make sure
that the figures turned in to him were correct. That
continued for a short time. Then he started to check
every barracks group, and we had to stand until he
had finished. Finally the entire camp population
had to assemble in an open area near the center
of the camp and be counted by the Jap O. D., his
non-coms and some privates.
At this time there was no extensive organized
system of work details; certain cleanup and woodgathering jobs had to be done, but on the whole
there was considerable leisure. And as there was
then no organized recreation either, most men had
little to look forward to but one inadequate meal
after another.
My recollection is that in this period (that is,
early July, 1942) chaplains at Camp No. 1 were not
permitted to accompany burial parties, and the men
who died were buried without benefit of so much as
a prayer at the grave. Within the camp, in addition
to daily Mass, we Catholic chaplains led the rosary
every evening for the men of our immediate areas.
Usually 30 or 40 men joined in, a good representation. It was comforting to us to see men ready to
attend religious services without any pressure. As
we went along you could see the increase in daily
Mass attendance.
The food we got from the Nips was rice, prepared by our own men in the few galley buildings.
There was a fairly good serving three times a day.
There was also a commissary system in operation
when we reached the camp, set up with the approval of the Jap commandant, for the sale of food
brought in by Filipinos. There wasn’t much food,
or much money with which to buy it.
I recall seeing canned fish, a few cans of milk,
fresh native fruits, such as papayas and bananas,
small bags of brown sugar and cans of powdered
cinnamon, used to give a suggestion of flavor to
the rice. On the first day after our arrival one of the
Catholic chaplains gave a group in my barracks a
can of fish – a prize. It was “Stateside” stuff. Everything from the United States is “Stateside” in the
Philippines. This flat oval tin, marked “Packed in
California,” contained a number of small fishes in
some sort of sauce. There was only a little for a few
lucky ones, but we’ll never forget how wonderful
that little was.
Those in the camp fortunate enough to have any
funds usually made it a practice to share with their
friends who most needed it such extras as they could
get at the canteen. But though nothing went very
far, it was a big help to those in the poorest physical
shape. Later more money was available
but I’ll cover that when we come to it.
By this time I was feeling much better than I
had been at Little Baguio. There we had only two
meals of rice a day; at Bilibid we got three (plus the
“soup” with greens that I mentioned) and here at
Cabanatuan also we got three. So, though you never
got enough food, it still kept you going. I hit my low
at Little Baguio and I think I never lost any further
24 | everybody in camp seemed ill; worst cases hospitalized
�weight save on two or three occasions when I had
attacks of malaria.
It was a relief to get away from the walls of Bilibid and also the Japs there. At Bilibid Jap non-coms
were always in evidence through the prison area.
Here we saw them only occasionally. But it came to
be part of the required etiquette that we bow to all
Jap officers, commissioned and non-coms. If a man
failed, he was usually slapped around by the sentry.
Here at Cabanatuan instead of being oppressed
by high walls, there was a feeling of roominess and
freedom. The barracks may have been crowded
(certainly there was no spare space between us
on the berths at night), but outside there was no
suggestion of congestion. I began to feel really
better in every way, even in the brief time I
was here.
On July 9 the report circulated in camp that
Philippine guerrillas had attacked a party of
prisoners sent out to gather wood from Prison
Camp No. 3 (a few miles up the road from us),
had kidnapped the driver, killed one man, and
wounded a few of our boys and some of the
Jap guards. Whether there was any connection
between that happening and my transfer, I don’t
know – but next day, July 10, I was told that because
there were no Catholic chaplains at Camp 3, three
of us were to be sent there – Fr. Walter O’Brien of
the Diocese of San Francisco, Fr. John Wilson, a
member of the Congregation of the Precious Blood,
who had been in the Death March and at Camp
O’Donnell, and I.
We were ordered to pack our stuff and report to
the American headquarters building before noon.
Early that afternoon we were picked up by a truck
that had come down from No. 3 for supplies, and
were carried to our new post. There I was to remain
until Oct. 31.
25 | everybody in camp seemed ill; worst cases hospitalized
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter eight
Sometimes Japs Put Flowers
on American Graves
I
HAVE NO DESIRE TO MAKE CONDITIONS IN THE JAPANESE MILITARY PRISON
CAMPS OF LUZON APPEAR TO BE BETTER THAN THEY ACTUALLY WERE, yet I
must say that prison life at Prison Camp No. 3 was tolerable, and even pleasant as compared with
what I had previously experienced.
On our arrival Frs. O’Brien, Wilson and I were
greeted by the American adjutant, Lt. Col. Curtis
Beecher of the Marine Corps. The senior
American officer here was Col. Boudreau, USA,
who had been captured at Corregidor. A short time
after I reached Camp No. 3 Boudreau was transferred to Camp No. 1, and thence to Japan. I think
that all the full colonels and generals were removed
from Camp No. 1 about August 1942, and shipped
to prisons in Japan. At any rate they were gone
when I got back to Camp 1 in October. After
Col. Boudreau’s departure, Lt. Col. Beecher
became American commandant at No. 3.
There must have been 700 or 800 men here,
mostly Navy men and Marines, housed in three
groups. The first of these, whose men I served as
chaplain, was made up entirely of Navy and Marines; and it was now that I began to pick up my
sea-going terms. Group 2 was pretty well mixed –
Navy, Army and civilians who had worked for the
Army or Navy. The third group was all Army.
one showerbath for hundreds
The general character of Camp No. 3 was that
of Camp No. 1, and, like Camp 1, it had originally
been occupied by units of the Philippine Army. But
it was very much smaller in area, and its prisoner
population wasn’t a 10th of that of No. 1.
Sanitary conditions were much better, and
water was more plentiful and much easier to get.
It was supplied by the usual taps spotted through
the camp area. At one of these places the outlet
pipe had been run about six feet above ground and
a shed had been built over it. This was the camp
shower; and though it wasn’t exactly adequate for
the needs of hundreds, it was still more than had
been available at Camp No. 1.
This camp (again like No. 1) was on the south
side of the road, from which there was a gradual
rise. Those in the Navy group, in barracks at the
low front end, wallowed in a mudhole when it
rained, as it did at least once every day. Our barracks were floored with nothing more than the
ground on which they were built.
26 | sometimes japs put flowers on american graves
�jap guards decorated graves
There was a light barbed-wire fence around
our enclosure, but it gave no feeling of oppressive
confinement. The Nip sentries were more lenient in
their attitude than at No. 1. For instance, the chaplains here took turns going out with the burial parties. As a rule, only a single sentry came along with
us; and I have seen our Jap guard, while on the way
out to the burial plot, pick a few wild flowers and
lay them on the grave after it was filled in.
Sometimes while our detail was digging the
grave and while the burial service was going on,
the guard would go off 30 or 40 feet, sit down,
and often fall sound asleep. When we were ready
to march back to camp, we’d have to arouse him.
I don’t know the answer to that one. Possibly
they were green troops and hadn’t been instructed
in the accepted mode of handling Americans; for
often when some of our men had occasion to pass
from our camp to the hospital area (over on the
other side of the highroad) we didn’t have to salute
or even bow to the Nip sentries. Elsewhere this
had been insisted upon.
Our hospital at Prison Camp No. 3 was small,
because most of the transportable serious cases
were sent down to the big hospital area at Camp
No. 1. Consequently, our death rate was low. We
were having perhaps one death a day, and sometimes none. Our men seemed to be getting onto
their feet.
Food, too, was somewhat improved, though the
base issue was still just rice. But there was sometimes a little soup, a light broth (exceedingly light)
in which were greens of some sort. And there was
also the chance here (as at No. 1 Camp) to pick up a
few extras from the outside if you had any money.
We newcomers found that most of the officers
had chipped in and established their own mess. A
man chosen as commissary officer was allowed to
go down to the town of Cabanatuan on one of the
Jap trucks and buy certain foods.
Peanuts were a great favorite. And there was
candy, fruits and items like cans of fish. Sometimes
the commissary officer would get to the town once
a week. There really was a pretty good commissary
setup for those who had a few pesos.
Each officer was supposed to throw 10 pesos a
month into the fund. When I hit Camp No. 3 I had
just seven pesos, but by pooling with the two other
priests we got enough to cover us for a month.
When the second month came up, Maj. James
Bradley, USMC, of Millinocket, Me. (now listed a
prisoner in Japan) came over to us.
“Are you broke?” he wanted to know, and we
assured him that we were. So he gave each of us
10 pesos. After that second month nearly everybody
was out of funds, and the mess was discontinued.
they could buy extra food
At this period we could even buy an occasional
chicken, or a few eggs, from the Filipinos. Two or
three men might chip in and get eight or 10 eggs.
Sometimes there were a few small Philippine
sausages. And prices were only a little above normal. Such extras as these would be prepared by the
galley crews and added to the rice portion of the fortunate owners. Native cigarettes were also brought
out from Cabanatuan by the commissary officer.
Though everybody was still hungry, we managed
pretty well, and conditions were really tolerable.
Members of the work details who went out every
day into the neighboring woods to gather fuel for
our galley fires were allowed as an extra a “biscuit”
a day – a cookie made of rice flour. The work wasn’t
exceptionally hard, and there was little or no trouble
with the guards, so the men used to volunteer for
the wood detail in order to get that extra bit of food.
There were no Nips stationed inside our compound, other than a few in their administrative
office, who were seldom in evidence. Our camp,
together with No. 1 Camp, was under command of
a Japanese colonel; his representative here, a major,
lived across the road, next to our own hospital area,
with his staff and crew of interpreters, and the soldiers of the guard.
Mostly when we saw Japs inside our compound,
they had come to buy or swap for watches. American watches were in great demand, and many of
our own men were delighted at the chance to exchange their timepieces for food or money. I knew
one fellow who got 20 cans of milk, four bottles of
Jap beer, and 20 pesos in Jap-Philippine war money,
for his watch.
three were shot by guards
Just so you’ll know that everything wasn’t sweet
27 | sometimes japs put flowers on american graves
�and lovely at No. 1, I ought to report that shortly
before I arrived at the camp three of our boys
were shot by the Japs. I saw their graves, with little
crosses over them. The Nips said they had been
shot while trying to escape.
Towards the end of August, 1942, they gave us
some baseball equipment. There were even shin
guards and chest protectors. After that we had
games every Sunday and a couple of days in between. They even let us play in a field outside the
fence. A limited number of our men were counted
as they passed out and checked again as they
returned. And in addition to our own lively rooters and sideline coaches, the Jap officers and men
used to stand off and watch the games. Our little
“league” at Camp No. 3 was the first sign of organized recreation that I had seen. Later we learned
that a recreation program had been started back at
Camp No. 1 about that same time.
We had very little reading matter, chiefly a few
badly worn books men had managed to bring along
with them from Bataan and Corregidor. But about
this time the Japs began to distribute bundles of the
Manila Tribune, most of the copies from two to six
months old when we got them.
every battle a jap victory
These Manila Tribunes provided little genuine
news, but they did give us plenty of laughs. In
pre-war days the Tribune had been reputedly
pro-Japanese, and now it was nothing else but.
Printed entirely in English, its “news” stories were
all glowing accounts of great Japanese victories. The
United States forces were invariably wiped out, and
the losses of the Imperial Japanese Navy and Army
were always insignificant.
Articles in the Tribune were continually emphasizing that the great spiritual forces of Japan would
sweep all before it – sentiments like “the spirit of
Japan, aflame in the hearts of our troops, will surely
conquer the materialistic imperialism of the United
States.” That was a favorite theme.
Terrible internal conditions in the United States
were played up. The papers gave great prominence
to strikes and other labor troubles, and to industrial
conditions generally – always described as being
chaotic. There were also stories about crime waves
in America; how, due to the neglect of mothers and
fathers who were working, youths were running
wild. The papers carried illustrations supposed to
be of battles won by the Nips but we noticed that
they were usually pretty vague as to location. Every
day there were a few paragraphs devoted to a lesson
in Japanese.
What was the effect of this propaganda? It was
all so childish and obvious that it had just the
opposite effect to that intended. The Nips never
counted on the American spirit and the American
sense of humor. The combination is unshakable.
For a long time we got bundles of these papers
about once a week, but as the war progressed and
the tide turned, we saw less of them and finally the
distribution was stopped.
28 | sometimes japs put flowers on american graves
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter nine
“No Atheists in Foxholes”
Saying is Largely True
I
MMEDIATELY ON OUR ARRIVAL AT CAMP NO. 3 WE CATHOLIC CHAPLAINS WERE
WELCOMED BY THE TWO PROTESTANT CHAPLAINS SERVING THE MEN THERE,
Chaplain David Quinn, USN, an Episcopalian, and Chaplain Ralph Brown, USA, who was, I think, a
Baptist. Of that I’m not certain. Thereafter the five of us shared quarters with other officers in one of
the barracks.
They had been holding services in various parts
of the camp, in the open. But now with the rainy
season on, some sort of protection was needed,
especially since we planned to erect temporary
altars in the various group areas to which we were
detailed. I have mentioned that I was assigned to
serve the Navy-Marine group. Fr. O’Brien was
chaplain to the Navy-Army-civilian mixed group
and Fr. Wilson served the Catholics in the Army
group, which occupied the back part of the
prison compound.
So we applied to the Japanese authorities for
permission and materials for three chapel shelters
and to our surprise they promptly and efficiently
provided both. Our boys built neat and serviceable
coverings of nipa thatch over the places designated,
and thereafter services were held regularly. The
Protestant chaplains, in addition to their usual
services of prayer and song, held a Communion
service at least once a month.
One of the great problems of the Catholic
chaplains here and at Camp No. 1 (and wherever
stationed) was to maintain a supply of wine and
wafers for the celebration of Mass and for
Communion. Now a German priest in Manila
came to our aid.
He was Fr. Teodoro Buttenbruch, a member
of the Society of the Divine Word, who had for
many years been a parish priest in Quezon City,
a residential suburb of Manila. As a German
citizen he was not interned, and had been allowed
by the Japanese to visit all the accessible prisons
and camps in which Americans were held.
Fr. Buttenbruch, a man close to 70, had been
working in the Philippines for almost 30 years.
Once a month he visited Camp No. 3. In
addition to bringing altar wine and altar breads,
he brought food and clothing – this, of course, with
the approval of the Jap authorities in Manila and
at the camp. As a result, a great many in the camp,
Catholics and Protestants alike, benefited from his
visits. Any who had friends or friendly contacts in
Manila made the German priest his emissary, and
often he arrived loaded down with bundles.
Frequently he brought generous donations from
29 | “no atheists in foxholes” saying is largely true
�the Catholic Women’s League of Manila for
general distribution.
At each of his monthly visits the three Catholic
chaplains would be called to the Jap administration
building and allowed to speak to Fr. Buttenbruch
in the presence of Japanese interpreters. The mere
fact that we could chat with him was a consolation
to us, even though the subjects were limited, and,
as a result of the supplies which he provided, each
of us was able to say Mass for each camp group
every day. We also had the rosary and litany after
supper each night.
Around the middle of 1943 Fr. Buttenbruch
was no longer permitted to come up from Manila.
Thereafter, though we received occasional shipments
from the Catholic Chaplains’ Aid Association, we
had to go to lengths to conserve our supply of wine
and altar breads (an unleavened wafer), essentials
for the celebration of Mass. So from the time Fr.
Buttenbruch’s visits ended, altar wine was poured
into the chalice with a medicine dropper – one
dropper full. In the ceremony a very small amount
of water is added to the wine, usually poured from a
cruet. Now we added the water with a dropper – one
or two drops. Communion wafers were broken into
very small pieces for distribution to our many daily
communicants.
At some time I had heard the expression about
there being “no atheists in foxholes,” but I’m not
sure whether it was while we were still prisoners or
in the short time we were in the Philippines after
our release. While it is not literally true, because
I did meet some atheists in foxholes, the saying
does reflect the attitude of most of our men.
In the four months at Prison Camp No. 3,
religion was a big factor in their lives. For the
Catholics I can report that at the daily Masses at
6:15 there were usually 30 to 40 present in each
group and most of them went to Communion.
When you consider that our Sunday Mass
attendance ran only 60 per group, and that this
represented the total Catholic population, you can
understand how good the daily showing was. We
arranged to have chow time on Sundays moved
ahead to 7 o’clock (breakfast rice usually was dished
out starting at about 6:40), so that we would have
time for a short, simple, practical talk to the men.
Aside from the services the boys in camp
showed a lively interest in religion, and after the
night service usually started a confab. All sorts of
questions were asked by Catholics and Protestants
alike – and by some of the Jewish boys, too,
of whom there were 40 or 50 in the camp.
Because of an interesting angle, I’ll mention
that in the four months we had more than 100
conversions, with the accompanying ceremonies of
Baptism and First Communion. Then we submitted
a plan to the Japanese to invite the Archbishop of
Manila, or any other bishop in the Philippines,
to come out to the camp and administer the
Sacrament of Confirmation.
Now the Archbishop of the Philippines is
Michael O’Doherty, a citizen of Eire, a neutral
country, so he was left free to carry on his episcopal
duties. So our plan looked good to us. Col. Beecher
approved it and so did the Jap authority at our
camp. But when it reached the Nip command at
Manila it was held up and then came back with a
“not for the present” form of rejection. I thought
then and still am sure that the Japs passed up
one of their best chances for a piece of favorable
propaganda. They could have said, especially to the
Filipinos, “Look, there may be a war on, but we do
nothing to interfere with religious practices.” But
they didn’t see their chance, and we never did have
our Confirmation ceremony.
30 | “no atheists in foxholes” saying is largely true
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter ten
Fear of Death by Torture
Was Always in All Minds
E
ARLY IN THE FALL OF ’42 WE HAD AN OUTBREAK OF SERIOUS EYE TROUBLE
AT CAMP 3. NUMBERS OF MEN, SOMETIMES TWO OR THREE NEW CASES A
DAY, SUFFERED FROM EYE ULCERS THAT CAUSED TEMPORARY BLINDNESS .
Whether the blindness would be permanent nobody then knew, so there was a terrible fear in
everybody’s heart. So far as I know, all the patients did recover their sight; but it was sad to see these men
with bandaged eyes being led around the camp by companions.
I suppose this outbreak was due to some specific
infection, but poor nutrition caused a lot of eye
trouble all through the prison period. There were
eye doctors among our medical personnel at both
Camp 3 and Camp 1, but they, like the other medics,
were hard pressed for materials with which to work.
They had a few lenses that they brought with
them. Later other glasses were available – some
sold by their owners to get money for food, others from . . . well, though we made it a point not
to inquire too closely, everybody supposed that the
glasses of all men who had died were added to the
optical supplies. In the final stages of our imprisonment, when everybody’s eyes were going bad, I was
lucky enough to get a pair of glasses that probably
aren’t quite right but are close enough to give me
good service.
Here at No. 3 the boys started a weekly variety
show – recitations, songs, and all sorts of novelties.
At first some of the stuff was on the off-color side,
but it didn’t go over. A lot of good individual talent
was discovered. We also tried group singing, but
31 | fear of death by torture was always in all minds
it didn’t go so big and was dropped. Somehow the
boys weren’t just in a singing mood.
In the course of the Summer several small
groups were shipped off to work in other parts of
the island. I remember that a few men went to
Nichols Field, where we heard that 400 or 500
Americans were working on the airfield. Some men
would eventually return to us; many didn’t. Stories
were brought back of horrible conditions at Nichols; stories of brutal beatings by Jap guards and of
deaths. From what I heard I should say that Nichols
Field was the toughest assignment on the island.
Some of the groups that went out to do salvage
work on Bataan had a better time of it.
One day around the end of September we are all
called to assemble at the principal open space in the
camp, and there were informed that the Japanese
colonel in command of the two Cabanatuan prisons
had come up to give us a talk. What it was all about
we didn’t know.
Then they led in three Americans, their hands
tied behind their backs, and signs hanging from
�ropes about their necks. The signs read: “I tried
to escape and found it impossible,” or something
like that.
The substance of the Japanese colonel’s long
harangue, as given by his interpreter, was that it
was useless for any of us to try to escape, as these
men had discovered, because all the islands in the
Pacific were occupied by Japan and there was no
refuge anywhere.
“He says, ‘Be patient,’” the Jap interpreter
told us. “He says, ‘The war will be over soon, and
after Japan’s victory you will be sent back to your
homes.’” This, remember, was in 1942.
The three Americans said nothing. They showed
no signs of having been beaten; yet I remember
that they were dark-skinned, and I supposed they
were boys of Mexican blood. They were led off by
ropes and I never heard further of them.
What impressed me most about this business
was our own apprehension before it got underway.
We were ready for almost anything. I was talking
afterwards with a naval officer, now a prisoner in
Japan, and he said that he expected that any day the
Japs would come in and machine-gun us. We had
all heard of the Death March by this time and of
savage brutality elsewhere. I remember having read
that the Japanese policy was not to take prisoners;
I think that was in Gunther’s “Inside Asia,” which a
dental officer had on Bataan. So though I had seen
only “slapping around” and as yet no instance of
cold-blooded cruelty, I shared the general fear that
some day “something is going to happen.”
In addition to the news brought in by our own
returnees, there was always the underground. I can
give you one sample of how it worked. There was a
young Filipino girl, 18 or 19 years old, whose home
was up to the north of us on the way to Bongabon.
She’d go into Manila, by bus to Cabanatuan town
and thence by train, and come out bearing written
messages from some in the camp who had close
friends there among the Filipinos. More important, she would bring medicine and money; and
the money meant food for those most in need of
it. These she left at certain points in the fields near
our camp where they were picked up by certain
other persons whose identity had best not be mentioned. This went on regularly, but only a few in the
camp knew of it.
32 | fear of death by torture was always in all minds
Here you have just one story of the bravery
and the loyalty of the great mass of the Philippine
population. This girl knew the risk. Death was the
penalty. She was just one of thousands of unnamed
heroes among the Filipinos.
Rumors were current in middle October about
a possible breakup of Camp No. 3. One version was
that we were all going to Camp No. 1. Another had
us headed shortly for Manila.
On Oct. 30 the thing materialized. Half of the
camp population was transported to Camp No. 1 on
that day. I went down with the final cleanup on the
31st. Those unable to make the march were loaded
into trucks, with the rest of us trailing afoot.
Just how far it is I don’t know, though we always
spoke of the two camps as being 12 kilometers
apart, better than seven miles. But it took us from
about 7:30 in the morning until around noon to
cover the distance. Few were actually ill, but none
was in shape for a march. We arrived in a torrential
downpour, our bags and scant possessions
dripping water.
I have used the term “slap around” to indicate
the punishment inflicted on our men and officers for minor infractions, deliberate or accidental,
fancied or real, of Jap rules and orders. This will be
a good place to explain what this “slapping around”
was. . . sometimes.
As we pulled into Camp No. 1 a Jap sergeant
spotted one of our boys, Marine Sgt. Stanley Bronk
of Seattle, aboard one of the trucks.. Bronk was
where he had been told to go by the guards at No. 3
camp but the Jap sergeant evidently thought otherwise. He ordered Bronk down, and then struck him
a vicious blow on the ear with his fist. From that
time on Bronk had trouble with his ear; it was still
bothering him when we got away together more
than two years later.
That is an extreme example of “slapping
around.” For the most part it was a crack with the
open hand or a side-slap with the fist that did no
serious injury. The boys felt it, but the greatest
effect upon them was inside. Yet they’d just have
to clamp down on their emotions, and just take it.
This served as a reintroduction to Japanese
Military Prison Camp No. 1, which was to be my
home for the next 27 months.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter eleven
Burial Detail Left Camp
with Dead at 4 Each Day
W
E HAD NOT VIEWED WITH ANY PLEASURE THE MOVE TO WIPE OUT
CAMP NO. 3 AND SEND US TO NO. 1. Through the Summer we had been getting
word of conditions there and knew what to expect.
We now found the prisoner population much
lower than what it had been when I left early in
July. Deaths, outgoing labor details to other parts
of Luzon, and group shipments to camps in Japan
had so reduced numbers that many of the upper
barracks were untenanted; and even after all of our
crowd from No. 3 was housed, there were still many
empty barracks at the rear of the camp. My guess is
that there weren’t many more than 6000 Americans
here after our men got in, exclusive of those in the
hospital area.
We had heard about the heavy toll of deaths.
No. 1 had lost 40 or 50 a day. I recall that somebody
at Camp 3, after we got that news, figured that at this
rate Camp No. 1 would be wiped out in six months.
We had heard also of the sad affairs of attempted
(and actual) escapes. At one time three officers had
been caught and practically beaten to death outside
the camp, in full view of many of the men. All officers in the barracks in which the three had lived were
confined to quarters for 30 days. Also, as a result of
escapes, a ban had been put on weekly shows that had
been started after I left in July; and more telling punishment was handed out in a shortening of rations.
33 | burial detail left camp with dead at 4 each day
At least, food was short for a time (shorter than usual),
and this was believed by the men to be a mass reprisal.
Those of us who had just come down from No. 3
were also conscious of the stricter attitude of the
sentries. Everything here was on such a large scale
that the Japs evidently figured that they had to run
things in a more machine-like way. A rule was a rule
and there were no liberties.
Sanitary conditions were perhaps slightly
improved as against those I had found here in July,
but not notably so. Yet there were fewer hospital
cases, and the daily death list was down from its
peak. But the whole camp population was down, too.
About the middle of October, Lt. Col. Beecher,
who had done such an excellent job at No. 3,
was put in charge here by the Japs as American
commandant. He immediately made changes.
Beecher put up a fight (he could stage a good battle
when he went after something), and got the Japs to
provide materials.
Water was piped into the galleys, which up to this
time had to get water from the few outside taps. The
whole latrine system was reorganized and rebuilt,
and repairs were made on some of the barracks.
�Within a couple of months there was distinct
evidence of improvement.
On my second day in camp I went over to the
hospital area. To make this visit I had first to get the
permission of my group leader (the camp was organized for administrative purposes into three groups, as
at No. 3), and then the O.K. of our camp commandant.
Thereafter I could visit the hospital every afternoon..
It was a sorry affair – malaria, dysentery, other
illnesses; many desperately sick. The doctors and the
corpsmen were doing heroic work. The horror of the
place was one ward (“O,” I think it was), in which
those were placed who had only days or hours to live.
Throughout the hospital there were no beds, and our
sick were on bare bamboo shelves or berths such as I
have previously described. In Ward O, however, there
was a floor – a real wooden floor – and on it the dying
men lay with, at most, a blanket under them.
I wish I could make every American know of the
sufferings of those poor souls in the hospital area at
Cabanatuan, and also of the heroism of the medical
staff there, mostly Army men. They had no real hospital facilities, practically no medicines; they were overworked, and further burdened by the heavy realization
of the odds under which they labored. Yet they carried
on with a Christ-like spirit of humility and service.
Some of the doctors and corpsmen died; many of them
barely escaped death. And they carried on their work
when they themselves were desperately ill. All through
this they got little or no help from the Japanese.
Immediately after my return to No. 1 Camp I
joined with the other chaplains in going out with the
burial details. My understanding is that the Japs had
not permitted this at No. 1 until some time in August.
At 4 every afternoon a long line of litter bearers,
carrying the nude bodies of all who had died in the
previous 24 hours, started out from the hospital area
and proceeded up the road to the cemetery, about 1
1/2 miles south. A chaplain – Catholic or Protestant,
according to the rotation, but never more than one –
led the way. The bearers followed in single file; there
might be 30 or 40 litters. And on each side marched
the Jap guards with drawn bayonets.
The burial ground was just a big, unfenced field;
though later, about 1944, the Japs did fence it and
erected there a granite obelisk, perhaps 10 or 12 feet
high, unmarked.
34 | burial detail left camp with dead at 4 each day
Arriving at the cemetery, the party would sometimes have to wait until a work detail prepared the
graves. Commonly, however, they were ready – each
six feet wide, about three feet deep, and long enough to
accommodate 10 or 12 bodies laid side by side. Two or
three or more graves were used each day at this period.
When the bodies were laid in the graves, the
chaplain read a burial service. After a hand salute,
the graves would be filled, and back to camp our
procession would march. The Japs were silent spectators. They took no part; they gathered no flowers.
Sometimes in this Fall of 1942 a report was current in camp that Archbishop O’Doherty, at Manila,
had offered to pay 30,000 pesos for meat for prisoners of war, but that the offer had been refused.
What the truth of the matter was we never knew; but
certainly about that time the Japs did begin to issue
us a little meat – carabao meat. Carabao is gray and
bloodless. Our cooks usually ground it up like hamburger and each person in camp got about a heaping teaspoonful once a day, (sometimes twice) with
our issue of rice. This innovation came, I’d say, late
in November or in December. The era of the greatest food scarcity was ended.
But everybody still was half-starved, and anything
edible was carried to the galley to be cooked. I have
heard that men ate rats. Very likely they did, but the
only instance I knew about was of a boy who took a rat
to be cooked and the galley crew refused to handle it.
Dogs were eaten, though not often. I was told that
the flesh was excellent; I never knowingly sampled it.
One night, though, Fr. McManus said, “”We’re
going to have a delicacy.”
“What is it?” I asked him when the dish was
brought on. Its basis was the usual rice, but there
were bits of meat mixed with it.
“You try it,” was the only answer I got, so I went
ahead. It was really good; about like chicken. I noticed, though, that Fr. McManus himself was eating
not very rapidly and with a sort of experimental air.
“Well, what was it?” I demanded after I’d cleaned
up the meal.
“Snake,” said he. It was down, so it was all right
then. Somebody had brought it in from the wood detail.
But all these items were oddities and didn’t
contribute much to the staple diet of rice and
minced carabao meat.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter twelve
Christmas Midnight Mass
for 6,000 in Moonlight
B
Y DEC. 1 THE DEATH RATE WAS DEFINITELY DOWN. DOUBTLESS THIS WAS
DUE IN PART TO THE IMPROVED SANITARY CONDITIONS, but that element
must not be overestimated.The truth of the matter seems to be that death had done its worst.
The men with low resistance had died and the more fit had survived.
The great morale booster of this period was
news that British and Canadian Red Cross boxes
had arrived. Trucks, we learned, had been sent off
somewhere to get them; and enough were brought
back so that on Christmas morning (1942) each
man got a box, and another box went to every two
men to be divided between them.
They were not huge boxes, but if they had been
enormous, they couldn’t have brought more happiness to the boys starved for food and starved for
contacts with the world they had once known – the
world of the very things these boxes brought them.
I don’t remember everything, but there was a can
of butter, sugar, a package of cocoa, a can of prunes,
condensed milk, canned plum pudding, cheese in
a can or jar, jelly, four or five packages of cigarettes
and a few other things.
You just can’t imagine the tremendous lift these
gifts brought to all of us. Christmas and feasting go
together and here was our feast.
Yet there was a sad aftermath. Two patients in
the hospital, who on opening their boxes proceeded
to eat the entire contents, died the next morning.
In their condition (indeed, in the condition most
35 | christmas midnight mass for 6000 in moonlight
of the men were in) the system could not stand
so substantial a meal. But there was little danger to most of us on that score, for nearly all the
boys treasured their new supply and doled out the
delicacies over a long period. We didn’t know when
another box would arrive.
Another highlight of Christmas, 1942 – and for
many of us it was the most notable event of our
whole imprisonment – was the Midnight Mass . . .
a solemn high Midnight Mass such as I never
expect to see again – said in the open under a
great moon in the presence of almost every man
in our part of the camp (nearly 6000) and many
of our captors.
Chaplain Scecina, who comes from Indianapolis, had by this time organized and trained an
excellent choir of officers and enlisted men. On
a platform near the middle of the camp, used for
entertainment, he erected a portable altar and
decorated it in Christmas fashion with odds and
ends found about the area.
Fr. Scecina said the Mass, with Fr. Wilson as
deacon and Fr. O’Brien subdeacon. An enlisted
man, named Fitzpatrick, whose home was in
�St. Paul, Minn., led the choir, and Fr. John McDonnell, an Army chaplain from Brooklyn, preached
the sermon.
I was the narrator, who explained the ceremonies, for more than 80 percent of the congregation
was non-Catholic. So I stood in shadow at the side
of the platform, from where I looked out upon a
scene so inspiring that it surely must have brought
the meaning and the spirit of Christmas to
everyone present.
The platform on which the altar rested was about
three feet high and stood on a slightly elevated spot
so everyone had a clear view of the ceremony. Over
the platform, with permission of the Japanese, a
row of electric lights illuminated the altar and
made it stand out in the otherwise lightless camp;
and on the altar itself glowed our substitutes for
candles – glass cups with a little oil in them and
improvised wicks.
A few steps led up to the platform, in front of
which we had placed two rows of chairs and benches. In the front row sat the Jap commander and a
dozen of his officers, with our own commandant,
Lt. Col. Beecher, USMC, and his adjutant, Maj.
James Bradley, USMC, of Millinocket, Me. Other
American camp officials occupied the second row
and then behind them, seated on the ground, was
the great congregation that would have done honor
to any cathedral.
The flickering altar lights, the vestments of
the priests, the ceremonies which so many had
never before seen, the solemn chant of the celebrant and his assistants, and the response of the
choir, centered all eyes and ears in one direction.
From my place in the darkness I explained what
was going on, the purpose of each move of the
celebrant, and the happenings and the symbolisms of the ceremony. Due to a slight breeze, the
words were heard clearly even by those farthest
from the altar.
Fr. McDonnell’s sermon was on the meaning
of Christmas. He took for his text the first part of
the Ave – “Hail Mary, full of grace; the Lord is with
thee” – and his theme was that devotion to the
Blessed Virgin Mary, to her who gave birth to the
Savior of the world on the first Christmas night, is
the fulfillment of the spirit of Christmas in the lives
of men.
36 | christmas midnight mass for 6000 in moonlight
For men in the hospital area Fr. Talbot of Fall
River, the hospital chaplain, also said a Midnight
Mass. He had contrived an open-air chapel for
his usual daily Mass by removing the side wall of
matting from a section of his quarters, so that his
temporary altar was in full view. For the Christmas
season the boys of that area had built a Christmas
crib beside the altar, replete with figures of the
Holy Family, the shepherds, animals, etc., each
figure carved from wood by the men themselves.
The Japs allowed a single electric light bulb to
illuminate the crib.
All formal and lengthy sermons such as that of
Fr. McDonnell were censored by the Japs, and were
supposed to be in their hands a week in advance;
but when they saw that the essential part of the
Catholic service was the Mass itself, and when it
was explained to them that our brief talks were just
scriptural explanations and catechetical instruction,
they waived censorship.
Our Christmas dinner was of rice and carabao
hamburg, supplemented by the contents of our
Red Cross boxes.
In the course of the Christmas observances
(non-religious) came an incident that has engraved
itself in my memory.
It happened in one of the barracks, where several officers were celebrating Christmas in their
own way, with a few illicit libations (smuggled in)
and with songs. In the midst of the singing some
one in the group brought out from a hiding place
a small American flag. Immediately the touch of
hilarity died down; there was a profound silence,
and tears came to the eyes of every man present at
the sight of the flag which they had not seen in so
many months.When New Year’s Eve approached,
the Japanese commander was reminded about the
American custom of seeing the New Year in, and
permission was gained to stay up until midnight.
Usually we were supposed to be in our bunks at 9.
At 12 o’clock the galley crews served cocoa, made
from the packets in the Christmas boxes, and a rice
cookie, and then we waited around for the midnight
bell to sound.
The “bell” which gave the camp its time was not
a bell. It was a gong – made from the wheel of a
�railroad car, suspended from a post, and struck with
a piece of pipe. Furthermore, our gong sounded
Navy time, that is “bells.” So when midnight arrived, there came over the air not the landlubber’s
12 strokes, but the Navy’s eight bells.
A great cheer went up, and everybody was calling out “Happy New Year,” and hoping that by the
next New Year we’d all be back home.
37 | christmas midnight mass for 6000 in moonlight
The Jap guards, those on duty and the others in
their camp just across the road, became so alarmed
at the uproar that the Jap officer of the day came
over and asked our senior officer to quiet his men
down a bit.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter thirteen
Prisoner Farm Workers
Often Brutally Beaten
T
HE YEAR 1943 WAS USHERED IN WITH A STRING OF JAP HOLIDAYS (JAN. 2-5)
THAT SUITED US PERFECTLY. WE WERE GIVEN LAYOFFS FROM THE USUAL
WORK DETAILS. Sometime earlier the Nips had organized a regular system of detaining men
and officers to labor at various jobs – the idea seeming to be to leave none idle in our camp, for
any sign of unoccupied men brought an immediate increase in the size of the call for workers.
The largest number usually was assigned to the
wood detail, which had been operating from the earliest days of the camp. Sometimes the wood-cutting
area would be 10 or 12 kilometers distant. On such
occasions it was usual to drive the men out and back
in trucks, though often they had to foot it one way.
They would start off about 7:30 in the morning and get
back at 5 or 6. The noonday rice was sent out to them.
The men had to chop wood all day, saw it into lengths
and load it on the trucks. Here in camp another detail
chopped it in small pieces for the galley cook stoves –
our own and those of the Japs.
Another detail, which operated in the four or five
months of the Spring dry season, cut, made and
gathered hay in the fields about two miles from camp.
This detail had to carry the bundles back to the Jap
area, where the hay was used as feed for the carabao.
It was highly important to us that these animals
should be well fed, for they were used not only as
draft animals but also provided us with meat.
Animals selected for our use were slaughtered
and cut up by our own men.
38 | prisoner farm workers often brutally beaten
In all work details officers and enlisted men labored
side by side. Everybody in camp was detailed for these
work gangs, with the exception of those officers and
men who had definite work assignments in the administrative machinery of the camp itself, and in the hospital.
There was a road construction detail that worked in
and near the camp and another and pleasanter detail
which went with the daily bull-cart (carabao) train that
moved over the road into Cabanatuan every day to
fetch supplies.
Sometime before the middle of 1943 (and perhaps
as early as February or March) the Japs started operation of a large farm in the field immediately adjoining
our compound on the south. This was virgin ground,
and with the inadequate tools provided, the task of
turning it over to cultivation was a grueling one. There
was one tractor, but most of the work of turning the
sod was done with pick and shovel. It was just plain
coolie labor.
I worked on the wood detail for a short time,
carried hay regularly, and was fairly regular on the farm
detail up to the last six or seven months, when I was
assigned as a senior group-chaplain within the camp.
�
There must have been a couple of thousand men
or more at work on the farm every day, for it grew to be
much larger than the whole camp area. We cultivated,
weeded, dug, collected and carried in all the products,
and all this under a blazing sun. On a day of steady
rain, of course, we did not work. This wasn’t because
the Japs had consideration for us. Their consideration was for the crops, which would be damaged if
worked on in rainy weather. But if rain clouds came
up while we were at work, we were kept right at it until
the downpour started. Then we would line up and be
counted in the field, march to our area and stand there
and be counted again, with the rain coming down in a
torrent all the while.
Boys on the wood detail got regular soakings every
day in the rainy season and the other details weren’t
much more fortunate.
In the dry season the farm was watered by hand.
When the farm detail ended its work, a fresh detail
arrived and for three hours, from 5 o’clock until dark,
its men traveled back and forth between the rows of
crops and a small elevated water tank, carrying fivegallon cans of water.
Our weather was divided by the seasons like this:
From January to March, the period of monsoons,
with a 40-50 mile wind that blew without letup for
three or four days, then laid off two or three, and
started in again. Day and night it blew, whipping
everything before it, including sand and dirt (because
this is the dry season) to get all over your rice as you
carried it back to your barracks from the galley. We’d
be likely to abuse the monsoon when it was with us,
and pray for it when it wasn’t.
Next, from April through June, we baked, for
the monsoon ended but the rain was yet to come.
By June all our area would be dried and the grass
nothing but a brown carpet.
July brought the rainy season, which ran on
till December.
The food produced went mainly to the Japs, some
to their camp, the greater part shipped by bull-cart
into Cabanatuan town. We got enough to be of some
help, but not much. We grew corn, telitum. (I don’t
know how to spell it; it was something like spinach),
camotes, which are a variety of yam or sweet potato;
onions (which we never got), parsnips, cucumbers,
and tomatoes (of which we got mainly the rotten ones).
39 | prisoner farm workers often brutally beaten
It was on the farm detail that our men suffered
most from the beatings of their guards. The “whys” of
Japanese behavior are beyond my comprehension, so I
can’t explain why guards of the farm detail commonly
acted like brutes while those on other details weren’t so
often tough.
On the farm, sometimes for minor infractions of
orders (usually due wholly to misunderstanding) but
usually for no apparent cause at all, beatings would
be administered by both Jap non-coms and by the
sentries, who carried clubs instead of, or in addition
to their rifles. I call them clubs, but I suppose the Japs
would call them rods. They were sticks three or four
feet long, and an inch or more in diameter. The Japs
would bellow at some poor fellow and beat him unmercifully with these sticks.
Another favorite trick of theirs was to trip a man
and when he was down kick him in the stomach and
face. I’ve seen men left bleeding from the mouth and
ears and many had to be hospitalized when they got
back to camp.
Every day Col. Beecher would protest to the camp
commander through the official interpreter.
“Very sorry, it will not happen again,” was the
usual response. But the beatings continued daily.
As far as I could learn, the Jap non-com rules the
roost in his own outfit, and doesn’t hesitate to beat up
his own men. That is their way of obtaining obedience
to orders. I was told that the Japanese officers couldn’t
understand how discipline could be maintained in
the United States Army without recourse to corporal
punishment.
For a long time the work details went out seven
days a week. Then the Japs let us rest on Sundays,
whether of their own volition or as a result of protest
from our commandant I don’t happen to know. Perhaps they realized belatedly that they could get more
out of us if we had a chance to rest. Nobody in camp
was in condition to work even six days a week. Everybody was half-starved; everybody was suffering from
some sort of ailment.
Men working in the fields would often drop from
sunstroke. Exposure to the sun was about the worst
thing possible for those who had been given quinine
for malaria.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter fourteen
Nine Threatened With Death
If One Prisoner Escaped
O
N THE OCCASION OF ONE OF THE INSPECTIONS MADE BY THE JAP
GENERAL IN COMMAND OF ALL PHILIPPINE PRISON CAMPS, A CHANGE
WAS MADE THAT ADDED TO THE DISCOMFORT AND SUFFERING. He ordered
that from that time on all prisoners except those on the wood detail must work without shoes.
This was to make escape more difficult.
The hardship endured by our men under this new
rule can only be known to those who experienced it.
The ground was seemingly red hot under the burning
sun. The sharp rocks and the rough stubble caused
sores that were almost impossible to heal. In fact, the
physical condition of all of us, with a general tendency
toward beri-beri as a result of dietary deficiencies,
brought ulceration from even the merest abrasion.
Some men had sores all over their bodies. (I have
seen some of the scars which Fr. Dugan bears as a result of conditions such as he here describes. W. de L.)
Due to the numbers and vigilance of the guards
escapes by our men were few and far between, but
some did manage to get away.
One night two men who had been on the watering
detail at the farm were discovered missing at the final
roll call. The Japs sent out their search parties – and
the next day we learned of Jap brutality and sadism in
the concrete.
One of the two men had been captured and killed.
His body was brought back and turned over to our
hospital for examination and burial. A doctor told me
about the condition of the body. It was horrible.
The second man was never heard from and
presumably got away.
When the boy’s body was brought back, the Japs
called all our group leaders together. Pointing to the
sheet-covered litter, the Japs informed our officers
that this was what would happen to any prisoner who
should attempt to escape.
Attempts to get away also were discouraged by a
regulation that was emphasized from time to time by
the Japs. All prisoners were grouped into squads of 10,
and the rule said that if any man in the squad escaped,
the other nine would be shot. These squads were
known as “execution squads” and this arrangement
obtained for the duration of our incarceration.
I have no first-hand information of the threat to
shoot the remaining nine ever having been carried
out. However, stories were current from other parts
of the island that the regulation had been enforced.
As the months ran on our clothing problem
became acute. We had managed to get occasional
donations from contacts in Manila, and on one occasion I recall that the Japs issued to most of the men
40 | 9 threatened with death if one prisoner escaped
�dungarees and dungaree jackets which they had
taken from supplies of the Philippine Army. But
hot sun and constant soakings quickly wrecked
anything a man owned.
In the fields many wore just shorts – either the
underwear type or roomier outside shorts. But don’t
picture the nicely tailored affairs you find in stores.
Many of our boys “rolled their own” out of pieces of
clothing otherwise unwearable. The ingenuity of
some even enabled them to make shorts from bits
of old GI blankets.
Some whose skin couldn’t stand the tropic sun
wore shirts, others dungaree coats that eventually
became so patched that they looked as if they’d
been made from a patchwork quilt. My use of the
word “dungaree” may be wrong, for garments
issued by the Japs were of light-weight material
like denim, not like the rugged stuff you get in
stateside dungarees.
Circumstances eventually forced most of our
boys to perform marvelous feats of tailoring in order
to cover their bodies. And I often thought that if we
could only take a movie of one of our details coming
into camp after a day at work, especially in a rain, their
few garments soaked and their bodies blue with cold,
they would have looked worse than…I was going to say
“scarecrows,” but scarecrows at least have coats and
hats. If we could have caught the bent, limping forms
and the strained features, the picture would have been
beyond your wildest imagination.
A contributing cause of our clothing trouble was
the seizure of some articles by the Japs. Once or twice
a year there was a general inspection of all our gear –
clothing, personal effects, everything we possessed.
This process usually extended over three days, one
of our three camp groups being inspected each day.
When they started this, and we saw how the first day
went, with the Japs confiscating all extra clothes, the
men of the other two groups buried most of their
stuff, and thereafter the Japs found little to grab.
But even what was saved quickly wore out.
Partly through necessity and partly as a means of
diversion, our boys turned their hand to producing
substitutes for almost everything. Give some men a
tin can, a nail or two and a few bits of wood and it was
unbelievable what they could produce.
I was told that one day a couple of Jap officers passing through the hospital saw one of our boys working
on some sort of device. One Jap said to the other, in
understandable English, “If we give these Americans
time enough, they’ll have a railroad built through
the camp.”
One naval officer made practical oil lamps out
of empty cans (from the Red Cross boxes I’ve mentioned) and empty bottles. The can formed the base
of the lamp, from which protruded a wick made
from bits of cloth or other suitable material. Then
the bottoms were cut out of the bottles…and there
you had as fine a lamp chimney as you’d want. The
officer rented his lamps (run on oil smuggled in
from the Jap area by some of our boys) for a small
sum per week, and so managed to get a little money
with which to buy food at the commissary. For a
few weeks the Japs tolerated this violation of the
“no lights” rule; then they clamped down and the
flourishing lamp business came to an end.
Our expert craftsmen produced all kinds of pipes
from the ordinary native woods. To us they were
the equals of the best stateside pipes. Their makers
sold them at prices ranging from five to 30 pesos,
or $2.50 to $15. Some were bought for practical use,
others as souvenirs; we were always thinking of the
day we’d start home.
Smoking was always a problem here at Cabanatuan. At first we had some native Alhambra tobacco,
very coarse and of poor grade. There were also some
native cigarettes. But supplies of both dwindled.
As your American has to have his smokes, the
Filipinos now brought whole leaf tobacco to the commissary. It was of the very lowest quality, and so full
of mold and dirt that we had to wash it. After drying
it in the sun, we’d cut it up fine with a razor blade or
mess kit knife. This was for our pipes or “makings.”
After a time we didn’t get much of even this.
Due to the absence of the usual cigarette paper
the men used anything. Perhaps the paper most
commonly resorted to was a page torn from the
pocket-size editions of the New Testament, which
for size and thinness made perfect cigarettes.
A common practice among very many was that of
patrolling the grounds for butts. But even butts were
scarce, because almost everybody saved his own and
used the tobacco in a pipe.
41 | 9 threatened with death if one prisoner escaped
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter fifteen
Red Cross Shipments
Exposed Jap Lies
W
ITH LIMITED EXCEPTIONS, THE ONLY REAL AMERICAN PIPES, TOBACCO
AND CIGARETTES WHICH THE MEN RECEIVED WERE IN THE AMERICAN
RED CROSS BOXES OF CHRISTMAS, 1943. They came sometime in December and
were distributed at once.
In addition to being the greatest of morale builders (as had been the British and Canadian boxes of
the previous Christmas) the American Red Cross
boxes proved especially demoralizing to the Japs.
For months, in their propaganda newspaper, the
Manila Tribune, they had been publishing stories of
the extreme shortage in the United States of such
vital materials as tin, rubber and the like. What a
surprise and shock they must have received when,
on inspecting these boxes, they found them filled
with tin containers. And with this shipment came a
general supply of rubber heels! The shipment also
included leather for repairing shoes, and all necessary repair equipment, such as cobblers’ lasts,
hammers, tacks, laces, etc. Now we were able to
set up a shoe repairing shop.
but many had no shoes left
By that time, unfortunately, many of the men
had no shoes to be repaired. Even at the start of our
imprisonment footwear was in bad shape after the
wear and tear of the campaign, and few men were
able to get replacements. The most common substitute for shoes was what we called the “go-ahead,” a
42 | red cross shipments exposed jap lies
flat piece of wood shaped to the outline of the foot
and held on by a couple of straps crossed over the
instep. I’ve seen some fancy examples in shoe store
windows since my return home; but our Cabanatuan variety was often pretty crude. They were made
by our boys out of scrap material.
Some of the men had almost perforce adopted
the Filipino habit of going barefoot even before the
Jap edict. That we must all work in bare feet accustomed nearly all of us to it. But when the repair kits
arrived there was a reappearance of wrecked shoes,
some of which responded to treatment.
Each Red Cross box was really a beautiful job,
for in addition to all sorts of substantial foods and
delicacies, there were vitamin tablets for every man,
something sorely needed.
These 1943 boxes were the only food and smoking
materials that got through to us from the American Red
Cross. Later, in 1944, we received a welcome shipment
of books and other reading material, but no foods.
every book a “best seller”
The 1944 books were a wonderful addition to
our well-worn camp library. I mentioned previously
�that a great many men had kept a book or two in
their bags after the surrender. Sometime in ’43 a
call went out to turn in all reading matter so that
we could form a central lending library in the
recreation building. We got everything – novels,
classics and (from the Japs) textbooks which they
had picked up from the grade and high schools
through the islands. To these they later added, after
their Manila Tribune ceased to circulate, some poor
imitations of our American illustrated magazines,
with texts in English and Tagalog, glorifying Jap
accomplishments in occupied territories.
Everybody had an opportunity to review his
schoolday texts. I read, among many others, a number of grade school geographies. Since they were
special Philippine editions, they proved especially
interesting. I read three or four school histories of
the United States. Arithmetic books were in great
demand through the camp.
Now, in contrast, came this Red Cross shipment
of ’44 which brought us all the latest publications –
novels, biographies and general scientific books.
The shipment included 15 copies of Gray’s Anatomy –
not exactly a late number, but it did give our doctors
a chance to do a little review work.
The lending library was well organized and
was staffed largely by our officers. We patrons had
library cards, bearing our name, rank and serial
number. We were allowed five days on a novel,
10 on a textbook, and the “overdue” penalty was
deprivation of library privileges for a term of days.
Money fines were out of question. Money was too
precious for that.
some money was smuggled in
The sources of our funds were twofold. The first
and most bountiful source was the “grapevine.”
Friends throughout the island managed to smuggle
money in, and in many cases in large amounts. I’ve
touched on this before. Details will have to wait the
end of the war.
Sometimes we didn’t even know where the
money came from. For instance, it wasn’t until
after our release that I learned that the Army and
Navy nurses confined at Santo Tomas in Manila had
taken up several collections among themselves and
had forwarded the money to us – sometimes to
43 | red cross shipments exposed jap lies
individuals, sometimes for general distribution to
the most needy.
The second, and limited, source was Jap payments. About the middle of 1943 the Japs started
monthly payments to officers – 50 pesos ($25) a
month to lieutenant colonels, 40 to majors, 30
to captains, 20 to all lieutenants, and the same
amounts to Navy men of corresponding grade.
A peso was worth 50 cents.
Enlisted men were paid (a gross abuse of the
term, as you’ll see) on the basis of work done. Say
there were 100 men on detail; the Japs would pay
only a certain percentage of the men each day, and
the daily rate was one centavo – half a cent. Coolie
labor was never like that. Our officers managed to
rotate the pay allotments so that every enlisted man
in camp got approximately equal amounts each
month, but the most he could expect was 20 or
25 centavos, or 10 or 12 cents.
40 days labor for one egg
Now in terms of purchasing power at the canteen, 20 or 25 centavos was next to nothing. You
may recall that I mentioned certain prices as they
were in parts of 1942 – not much above normal.
But by ’43 the islands were feeling the shortage of
everything, and prices jumped. I don’t pretend to
remember exactly the 1943 commissary prices, but
I’d say that eggs were 40 centavos each and a package of Philippine cigarettes that sold in Manila for
5 centavos before the war now was fetching 70. A
can of fish, if you could get it, sold for 10 pesos, or
$5. So you can see what the Jap “pay” to our enlisted
men amounted to.
The question is sure to be asked about what the
more fortunate officers did for the enlisted men.
With rare exceptions, they did everything they could
do; but in terms of effective help this was never very
much. Even the highest paid officer in the camp
had a monthly purchasing power of just five cans
of fish (perhaps 40 little fishes altogether), or a few
dozen eggs.
As for money that came via the grapevine – it
wasn’t by any means confined to the officers. Many
of the men had a sizeable number of Filipino
friends, and some had married Filipino wives.
Nevertheless, the enlisted man did have to bear the
brunt, and through it all he never wavered. He was
�magnificent in his courage and his confidence; for
plain everyday “guts” you couldn’t beat him. I knew
thousands of these boys intimately, and every man
of them won my undying admiration.
men turn to handicrafts
Many of the men, in order to get funds, turned
to handicrafts and to odd jobs of all sorts. One boy
did a wonderful job of repairing an old leather
jacket I had from back in my days as chaplain in the
CCC camps in Vermont. It was badly worn and its
zipper was gone, but this camp tailor added some
buttons and buttonholes and the jacket was a lifesaver for me at the time of our escape in ’45. Other
men managed to earn an extra peso or two by doing
laundry for some of the officers.
And then there were other ways in which money
changed hands. Our boys turned out some of the
most beautiful dice tables you’ve ever seen outside
of a high-class gambling casino. They were lined
with green cloth, were properly marked and did a
44 | red cross shipments exposed jap lies
flourishing business. Three or four men would run
the game and take a percentage of the turnover.
Then there were card games (all of this in spite
of Jap rules against gambling) played with pretty
badly worn and dirty cards until the arrival of a
new supply in boxes from home on March 17, 1944.
This St. Patrick’s Day distribution was of
personal boxes that had been sent by friends and
families. They arrived in one lot and mine bore a
Boston date of August, 1943. So far as I am aware
these were the only boxes received by anybody in
Cabanatuan other than the Red Cross boxes of
Christmas 1942 and 1943. Many of the boxes
contained packs of playing cards, and games
started up immediately.
One enlisted man made a slot machine from a
wooden box, some cardboard and bits of metal. It
didn’t work, but still was a most ingenious looking
device. It had slots, lever, dials that spun and even a
money cup. But it was only a sham.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter sixteen
Shaving Became Problem;
Japs Grabbed Razors
O
NE OF THE TREASURES OF THE BOXES FROM HOME WAS THE SUPPLY
OF RAZOR BLADES MOST OF THEM CONTAINED. In a life of many problems
shaving might have been a big one if we had let it be. But as blades grew scarce, men let
their beards grow.
Most of us, however, managed to get along.
Blades were treasured and sharpened (?) by rubbing
them on bits of glass, the inside surfaces of drinking tumblers, etc. As I remember, some blades came
through with both Red Cross shipments. The home
boxes gave us the third, largest and last supply.
Most of the few men who used straight razors
had them confiscated at the time of surrender. And
those who managed to save them at that time eventually lost them when later inspections turned them up.
Almost from the start of our imprisonment
some of the boys turned to haircutting. They’d do
a job for anybody without charge; but those with
money paid a small fee, thereby making it possible
for the barbers to get a few items at the canteen.
Some time in ’44, when special-duty men were
assigned, four or five were designated as official
camp barbers and excused from work on outside
details. These posts went to men who were not
physically able to stand the more laborious tasks.
letters begin coming through
Though we got no boxes from our friends and
relatives until March of ’44, letters had begun to
45 | shaving became problem, japs grabbed razors
come through before that – around the Fall of ’43.
For the first few weeks only four or five letters were
released each day; after that the number increased
until the total in a day ran to 200 or 300.
They were all old (in this first period at least a
year old) and had been quadruply censored, first in
the United States, then in Tokyo, again at Manila
and finally at our camp. The American censors
did their work mainly by blotting out, but the Jap
censors stuck to cutting, and some of the letters
arrived almost in ribbons.
One letter I received from Fr. Thomas
McLaughlin, S.J., procurator of the New England
Province, gave me the football scores of the 1942
season. I got the letter in ’44. All the team names
were there, but all the scores had been cut out.
Evidently the Japs were afraid that the figures
contained a code message. The B. C. team was
described as one of the leaders of the country. But
I had nothing but my imagination to rely upon in
trying to figure out just how leading it was.
Another time I received a spiritual bouquet
from the students at Shadowbrook, our seminary
at Lenox. This had listed the number of Masses,
�prayers and Communions offered for my intention;
but here again the numbers had been neatly sliced
out of the page.
The largest number of letters that I knew any
one person to have received in the course of our
34 months of imprisonment was somewhere
between 50 and 60. I got 18 or 20. I received one
letter from each member of my family except one
of my sisters, Sister Therese of the Little Sisters of
the Poor, whose headquarters is in Baltimore; but
all, as I later learned, had been writing regularly.
A very comforting letter came through from
Rev. James H. Dolan, S.J., then the New England
Provincial of our Order.
Shortly after the first distribution of mail it
appeared that messages were cut to 25 words.
I got several of this type (all counted in the
18-20 total) from Fr. Louis Logue, S.J. of the
B. C. High School faculty, which briefly gave
me news of my fellow Jesuits.
they could write 25 words
Sometime in the middle of 1943 we were
allowed to send 25 words on special Jap prisonerof-war cards to anyone in the States – one card
every two months, and the messages to be confined
to a greeting and a statement about our health.
We tried to send some of these to friends in other
prisons but it didn’t work.
Everybody in camp suffered from dental troubles because of the dietary deficiencies – cavities,
loose teeth, general dental deterioration. There was
a dental office over in the hospital area; but our
dental setup was at one end of the long American
administrative building in the prison compound.
Here five officers worked pretty steadily, four Army
dentists and one Navy man.
A few ordinary chairs, one foot-drill and a few
instruments made up their office equipment. But
their greatest problem was supplies. At one time,
before a big exodus of prisoners in October of ’44,
which will be mentioned later, they were so short
of fillings that a request went out for silver coins,
which they proposed to melt down and use for
plugging teeth. However, so few of us were left
after October that this emergency measure was
never resorted to, as far as I know.
46 | shaving became problem, japs grabbed razors
One man in camp, an officer, had his false teeth
stolen by a Jap at the time of the Bataan surrender
and had to get along for three years without them.
No, the Jap didn’t take them out of the officer’s
mouth. They had been giving some trouble and the
officer was carrying them in his pocket. The Japs
ordered everybody to show all possessions, and
then helped themselves to what they fancied.
While the officer didn’t enjoy being without
them, it wasn’t as serious a matter as it might have
been if the Japs had fed us thick steaks. As it was,
the stock diet of rice and bits of carabao meat was
almost made to order for him.
My own teeth are in such shape that I am slated
for some long sessions with the dentists at Devens;
and I have one prominent gap in the front of my
mouth. That tooth I lost trying to eat an ear of corn
– not a fine, fat, tender ear of table corn but a hard,
dry ear of the yellow corn grown for cattle feed. I
managed one day to get in from the farm with two
of them. One I gave away. The other our boys in
the cook shack boiled for three hours in a desperate effort to make it tender. The missing tooth is
testimony to their failure.
their own vegetable gardens
In this year also the lack of food was somewhat
made up by vegetables produced in individual
garden plots inside our compound. How the seeds
came in I don’t recall, but they were there; and both
officers and men labored on their little plots in all
their spare time. The largest of them weren’t
more than 20 by 20, but before long space was at
a premium.
Hunger will drive men to many things; here it
drove a few to pilfering in the gardens. You’d hear
our boys tell how, overnight, their plot had been
strafed. That was the term used: strafed. The business can’t be excused; but we who were there can
be understanding. You who read this must always
remember that though we are talking about work
details, of religious services, of letters and books
and entertainments, through all these things
runs one unending story – hunger. Hunger and
weakness and illness.
�As ’43 rolled along small groups continued to
be sent away to work in other parts of the islands;
also, we were told, some who went out were being
shipped to prison camps in Japan. There would be
one officer with every 50 or 100 men. Consequently
the camp population had gradually decreased. I’d
say there were only 3000 or 4000 at Camp No. 1
early in 1944.
With few exceptions we had no Generals or full
Colonels here at No. 1; I was told that all had been
sent to Japan as early as August ’42, mostly from
Camp O’Donnell. O’Donnell had been closed down
in October ’42, and all its remaining prisoners sent
to No. 1 with us.
That move brought Col. Duckworth to our
camp. You may recall that he was in command
47 | shaving became problem, japs grabbed razors
of Hospital No. 1 on Bataan, while I was a prisonerpatient there after the surrender. When that
hospital closed he had been sent, with some of his
staff, to try to correct some of the terrible conditions
at O’Donnell; and he had battled to save the lives
of the desperately ill men remaining there until
the camp was abandoned.
Through it all Duckworth himself was in bad
shape. Shortly after the surrender he had been
operated on for appendicitis at Little Baguio and
never got back into form again. At Cabanatuan he
was always rated a patient, and as his services as
a doctor were also in demand, he was allowed to
remain despite his rank. Duckworth was the
ranking officer in camp when the rescue came.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter seventeen
American Navy Bombers
Flew Directly Overhead
T
HE YEAR 1944 WASN’T VERY FAR ALONG WHEN CONSTRUCTION WAS BEGUN
TO ENLARGE FOR MILITARY USE, A SMALL CIVILIAN AIRFIELD ABOUT MILE
FROM OUR CAMP. Everybody began to wonder what might happen if the Yanks showed up
and began to drop bombs in our general direction.
Six days a week and sometimes seven, details
of prisoners started out about 7 or 7:30 (often
barefooted, for by this time nearly everybody was
hardened to it) and marched to the field. There
they dug and shoveled and leveled off the ground –
sometimes using small cars on tracks, filling them,
pushing them to an unloading point, dumping
them, and then repeating the process unendingly. It
was hard, laborious coolie labor. Lunch was brought
out to them at noon – rice. The men returned at 5
o’clock, exhausted by the work of the day, the heat
and the final march back.
Various opinions were expressed that the Nips
would never get a chance to use the field before the
arrival of the Yanks and tanks. That was a favorite
expression – Yanks and tanks. What wouldn’t the
Yanks and tanks do when they arrived!
Sept. 20, 1944 brought the greatest thrill of our
entire 34 months of imprisonment except our rescue.
At 10 o’clock that morning we sighted our first
American planes – three successive formations of
Navy bombers (we knew they must be off a carrier),
55 in each group, accompanied by fighter planes.
They sailed directly over us in beautiful forma-
tion, headed due west, to drop their first load of
bombs on Clark Field. Some of the boys could
scarcely believe the planes were ours, but the Nips
on the other side of the fence were sure enough.
They were utterly bewildered. They ran out of their
headquarters building and barracks and scattered
madly as if they were to be the immediate targets.
Any doubt about the identity of the planes was
dispelled when the flight returned. Two fighters
dropped out of formation and strafed the airfield.
And those who had noted the direction and timed
the return were sure they’d visited Clark.
Later that day Nip sentries told some of our
men working on the farm:
“Too bad for American planes. When they
returned to carriers, they did not find them.
Japanese Navy sank all the carriers.”
Yet that same afternoon about 3, the identical
formation in three successive waves came over
again with a fresh load. And the next morning
the same number of planes appeared again.
For a long time now we had known pretty well
how the tide of war was running, though few in
camp knew the source of our news. Some of the
48 | american navy bombers flew directly overhead
�boys had manufactured a short-wave receiver from
parts they had stolen from the Japs over a long
period, on occasions when they helped repair radios
and other electrical apparatus in the Jap camp.
They built it inside a standard Army water canteen,
and powered it with improvised batteries. I don’t
pretend to know the details, but we were getting
news over it right up to the end.
In addition to the radio news, we were also
hearing through the grapevine about the activities
of the Filipino guerrillas; and I think it was about
this time that the Japs began to really strengthen
and fortify their positions around the camp.
Evidently they feared a raid.
As I said before, my recollection is that for most
of our stay in Camp No. 1, the area in which the
prisoners were confined was enclosed by a not very
elaborate barbed wire fence. Now the Nips built a
triple fence around the entire camp zone, enclosing not only our prison area but the Jap area and
the hospital area as well. All three fences were of
barbed wire strung close together on posts. The
outer fence was perpendicular. Then came a space
and the second fence, also perpendicular. The third
fence started at the base of the second fence and
inclined inward at about a 45-degree angle.
There had always been a strong sentry patrol
around us. Now they ran up two or three watchtowers,
15 or 20 feet high, with sentries posted in them, and a
guard appeared on the platform of the water tower in
the middle of the Jap area. The Japs also erected poles
just outside the fence and mounted lights on them
with reflectors that threw a glare over our area.
The final touch was the erection of strongpoints
of earth, logs and sandbags just outside each corner
of the outer fence.
From time we saw our first planes there was
frequent air activity day and night in our part of
the island. Whenever the planes came in at night
the lights on the poles were shut off, and the
prison area thrown again into its old-time darkness.
By day our planes would bomb and strafe the
airfield; and our boys used to get huge enjoyment
on these occasions from watching the antics of the
Nip sentry on the water tower platform. The airfield was a mile away, but you’d think every bomb
and burst of fire from our planes was aimed right
at that Jap outlook. He’d keep on the near side of
the tank and peer around it as though he expected
to find a Yank right on the platform.
Now the grapevine began to filter in reports
about the destructive raids on military objectives
and shipping around Luzon.
Fifteen or 16 survivors of one bombed ship, all
of them British subjects, arrived shortly afterwards
to join us. They had come from Singapore as
prisoners, en route perhaps for Japan, and their
ship had been hit by American planes.
“Your lads are too bloody accurate,” they
informed us.
These men were without sufficient clothing or
any personal effects, so our boys gave them whatever
they could spare from their own scant possessions.
The newcomers told us stories of conditions similar
to ours that existed in the prisoner of war camps in
Singapore and throughout the Malay Peninsula.
All through the Spring and Summer of ’44,
groups continued to be shipped away from our
camp, either to other parts of the island or to Japan
and Manchukuo. As the prison population shrunk,
those of us who remained were gradually shifted
to the front area of the enclosure. The extreme rear
area in which I had been quartered on first arrival,
in July, ‘42, had long since been cleared of most of
its buildings, and was now outside the fence and
had become part of the farm.
The old hospital area beyond the Jap camp had
been abandoned, and all its remaining patients
and staff shifted to the front buildings in our
enclosure – those on the north end, close to the
Cabanatuan road.
Water now was no longer a problem. By 1943
our just-get-out-in-the-rain method of bathing had
been supplanted by the more satisfactory one of
being doused by a five-gallon gasoline can filled
with water from the taps. The cans and a smaller
camp population made that possible. By September
of ’44 two showers were erected, the first in our
prison section of Camp No. 1.
49 | american navy bombers flew directly overhead
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter eighteen
Japs Suddenly Pull Out;
Leave Prisoners Unguarded
T
OWARDS THE END OF OCTOBER, 1944, AFTER NEWS HAD REACHED US OF
THE LANDING AT LEYTE, IT WAS UNDERSTOOD THAT EVERYBODY WAS
GOING TO BE SHIPPED TO JAPAN. On the 30th all but the hospital patients and a small
group which was to remain to care for them were ordered to be ready to leave the next day. John
Borneman, as Protestant chaplain, and I as Catholic chaplain, were among those picked to stay.
On the 31st all who were going had their effects
inspected, were herded into trucks, and pulled away
from the camp. I’d say that 1500 to 1800 went out.
A few more than 500 remained, about 480 being
patients.
Three other chaplains were left in the camp,
all of them hospital patients – Alfred Oliver of
Washington, D. C., a Protestant chaplain, and
Fr. Hugh Kennedy, S.J., of New York City, and
Fr. Eugene O’Keefe, S.J., from one of the Oranges,
New Jersey. The last two had been missionaries
in Mindanao. Just a month before our forces on
that island surrendered, both priests had been
commissioned as army chaplains, and so found
their way into our military prison camp.
I now had a chance to meet many men I
missed when we had the bigger crowd.
One day a boy came up to me and said:
“I remember meeting you when you were chaplain
at the CCC camp in Marshfield, Vt.”
I recalled him well – Stanley Malor of Salem,
now a sergeant. In previous months in the
Philippines I had run into eight or 10 other CCC
boys of my Vermont area. Stanley was the last I
met, and he got out with me. Only a few days ago,
when I visited the General Electric plant at Lynn in
company with some of the Rangers who rescued us,
I met Stanley’s sister, who is doing her job on the
home front.
On Sunday, Jan. 7, 1945, our senior officer, Maj.
Emil Reed, an Army doctor (Col. Beecher went out
with the big crowd on Oct. 31, and Col. Duckworth
was a patient) was called over to the Jap headquarters and told by the commandant, a Major, that we
were no longer prisoners of war.
Reed was mystified by this pronouncement and
suggested an explanation.
“Exactly what is our status?” he wanted to know.
But the Jap assured him that no further
information could be advanced.
“Then will you please give me a statement, just
as you have made it, in writing?”
No, the Jap wouldn’t do that either. He did tell
Maj. Reed that if we remained within our compound no harm would come to us, but if we
left it we might be shot by Japanese soldiers in that
50 | japs suddenly pull out, leave prisoners unguarded
�section of the island. The Jap troop commander
in that area would hereafter be in command, the
Major added.
Maj. Reed was further informed that the
Japanese Major, his officers and his entire prison
guard were leaving camp immediately; that they
had set aside a 30-day supply of rice for us.
A few hours later, about 1 o’clock that Sunday
afternoon, the whole crowd pulled out bag
and baggage.
To say that everyone in our camp was confused
by this sudden turn of affairs will not make our
mental state clear. We were bewildered. We had
been told we were no longer prisoners of war, yet
had been warned to stay in the compound. We
were free and we weren’t free. As far as we could
figure it, the Japs merely had freed themselves of
all responsibility for us as prisoners of war; and if
we were all shot by some butcher squad that might
come down on us, they could wash their hands of
the whole proceeding.
Early the following morning, led by Maj. Reed, all
who were able went to the Jap area and confiscated
large stores of food and of shoes – good American
GI shoes. Instead of finding a 30-day supply of rice,
we discovered all sorts of wonderful foods. We seized
and carried over to our area more than 8000 cans
of stateside evaporated milk (Alpine Brand, according to the labels), several sacks of brown sugar, a
huge supply of onions and other vegetables, several
live pigs, chickens that were roaming the camp, live
ducks from the little artificial pond at the front of the
Jap area, and a few carabao – eight or 10, I think.
Now, for the first time in 33 months of captivity,
we had enough to eat. The pangs of hunger
subsided. For the first two days each patient was
given two cans of milk, and after that one can nearly every day. For most of them it was the first milk
of any kind they had tasted in a long, long time.
We had meat in fairly generous helpings. The
pigs were slaughtered and barbecued. The boys dug
ditches for the fires; and for grates used bedsprings
from a few cots that had come down at some time
from Camp O’Donnell. The pork lasted only two
days. After that we had the chicken and ducks.
Then from time to time a carabao was slaughtered.
So from Jan. 8 to the end of the month we had an
abundance of food.
On the evening of the second day – that is,
Jan, 9 – a small company of Jap soldiers came into
the Jap area. We wondered what this meant; but next
morning they left. But from that time until the end
of our captivity various Nip Army units made almost
daily use of the old camp as a stopping place.
Finally, perhaps a week after our old captors
departed and we were supposedly free, a small guard
of less than 100 men arrived, took up quarters in
a few barracks towards the front of the Jap area,
and without any explanation to us, posted sentries
around our camp. Our “freedom” was ended.
Not only did the Nips post sentries outside our
fence, but they manned the pillbox defense on the
northeast corner and put a lookout in the watch
tower and atop the water tower again. Only one
watch tower was now used, that just outside the
fence on the east.
The Jap commander also posted a small guard
on the main road close to a gate which had been
thrown across the little road that ran in between our
prison area and the Jap area. The general layout at
this time is indicated by the accompanying plan.
During January there was an increase in
American air activity over our camp and in our
general neighborhood. We never knew the exact
purpose of the missions. But we did know of
MacArthur’s landing at Lingayen Gulf, 50 or
60 miles northwest of us, on Jan. 9. That came
in our secret radio I’ve mentioned. We typed a few
sheets of bulletins every day and passed them around
among the patients. Everybody was able to follow to
some extent the progress of our American troops.
We knew of the drive towards Manila, and as we
saw no indications of a spearhead in our direction,
we feared we were going to be by-passed.
51 | japs suddenly pull out, leave prisoners unguarded
�52 | japs suddenly pull out, leave prisoners unguarded
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter nineteen
Hearts Pumped Like Mad at Cry,
“We’re Americans”
I
N THE AFTERNOON OF TUESDAY, JAN. 30, 1945, THERE APPEARED TO BE A BIG
INCREASE IN AMERICAN AIR ACTIVITY IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF OUR CAMP.
We commented on it, but it had no special significance to us. We had not the slightest inkling that
our rescue was at hand.
We often talked about the day when we should
be free, and about the coming of the Yanks and
tanks; but a great deal of our talk was to bolster
our own morale. I doubt if anybody in the camp
thought we’d ever get back. Most of us felt that
when the Americans came our way the Nips would
wipe us out to a man – with or without pretext.
That night we had chow sometime between
5 and 6. After that, everybody sat around in groups
chatting, or otherwise occupying themselves. As far as
we were concerned, it was to be just another evening.
By 7 o’clock night began to close in rapidly, and
we could see the flare of light from artillery fire off
in the direction of Clark Field. By 7:15 or so the light
was pretty well gone, though it still wasn’t what
you’d call pitch dark.
You may recall that I mentioned the electric
lights that the Japs had erected on poles outside
our area and how they were turned off whenever
our planes came over. That was back in ’43. By this
time, with our invasion of Luzon in full swing, these
lights were never on. We were in full blackout every
night. The Japs even forbade our smoking in the
open for fear a match-flare might attract a bomber.
So we sat there just talking, wondering how the
battle was going off to the north and west.
Suddenly came an outburst of small arms fire
from somewhere at the back of the camp – right up
back of our prison compound – and almost instantly the fire was taken up seemingly on all sides of
us. It was so close that we needed no orders to act.
Every man hit the dirt. I dropped into a shallow, dry
drainage ditch; and I can still remember vividly my
sudden realization that one of my arms was outside
the ditch, and how I tried to get it under cover
without exposing any other part of my body.
WE WERE CONVINCED THAT THE NIP
GUARDS WERE WIPING US OUT, and I guess
most of us were pretty well terrified. Nobody likes
the idea of being mowed down without a chance
of resistance.
Yet in another minute or two we became puzzled. For though the firing continued, and bullets
ricocheted through the area, we heard no cries of
the wounded from any of our men.
I now know that the firing lasted 15 or 20 minutes,
but to us, lying there, the time ran to interminable
lengths. There was the familiar rattle of small arms
53 | hearts pumped like mad at cry, “we’re americans”
�and machine guns, spotted with heavier roars we
couldn’t make out. There were cries, and heavy firing
along the little road that divided our compound from
the Jap area. And then the battle sounds died down
almost as suddenly as they had begun, and there
came the cry that we’d been waiting for all these
long months:
“We’re Americans! You’re free! Go down
to the main gate!”
Nobody can ever give you an idea how we felt.
There was amazement, joy, unbelief. Our hearts
were pumping like mad.
We still didn’t quite understand what had happened and there was confusion, a milling around in
the darkness, for now it was black night. Our rescuers were saying, “Go to the main gate,” but the main
gate, as we knew it, was the main gate to our compound, a gate at the side, opening onto the little road
inside the camp. That gate was closed and locked.
Col. Duckworth came up from the front of the
camp. Just wait a minute, he said, and we’d all
know what the number was.
Then an American soldier appeared.
“Go down to the main gate,” he said; and we
discovered that they’d been talking about the
gateway to the whole area – a gate across the head
of the camp road, opening out onto the main
highway. The rescuers had blasted that gate open
and then had cut through the inside wire fence
into our enclosure.
More soldiers came up (we later discovered
they were the Rangers) and directed us.
“Don’t wait for anything,” they said. And
we didn’t.
We streamed out onto the Cabanatuan highway.
Some of the more seriously ill patients had to be
helped along. Many were being carried in litters by
members of the rescue party and by Filipinos they
had brought along for just this work.
We went right across the high road, down
through a dry ditch bordering it on the far side
and across the rice paddies that lay beyond. We
were going across country, heading north. Many
staggered from weakness, yet all found strength
in the excitement of the moment.
It was quick work. The Rangers told me afterwards that everybody was out and on his way to safety
in 28 minutes from the time the first shot was fired.
We wore exactly what we had on when the attack
began. Some had only shorts, others shorts and
undershirts. Many were barefoot. I had on old khaki
trousers, and that ancient leather jacket that had
done service back when I was chaplain of the CCC
camps in Vermont. My footgear was socks and a
pair of the “go-aheads” I’ve mentioned before – just
flat pieces of wood, cut to the outline of the foot,
and held on by a couple of straps across the instep.
Just beyond the first rice paddy we came to a
creek or slough, but it had plenty of mud. In the
crossing I lost my go-aheads; and I made the rest
of the march in my stocking feet and, when the
stockings went, barefoot. Later in the night one of
our men, a sergeant of Marines, gave me another
pair of socks.
Off on the right at some little distance we could
hear firing, and we were told that the action was
on the Cabanatuan road, above the camp where
Filipino guerrillas had set up a road block to
prevent the Japs coming down when the firing
broke out. There was another guerrilla road block
below the camp (between the camp and Cabanatuan
town), but we heard no sounds of action in
that direction.
We walked fast, as fast as we could; and it
seemed to us that we were racing. Yet actually the
pace must have been slow, for few were in shape
for a march. Soldiers on each flank guided us.
After a while we came to a river, and were met
by bull carts waiting there to take on the litter cases.
Some of the men in our camp hospital had only
recently been operated on, and a great many others
were seriously ill. Now these were moved from
litters to the carts and the crossing was made. Most
of us waded the stream, which wasn’t more than
waist deep.
54 | hearts pumped like mad at cry, “we’re americans”
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter twenty
“Alarm” Rescuers Heard Was 7 Bells,
Navy Time
W
E CONTINUED TO HEAR THE SOUND OF FIRING OFF TO OUR RIGHT
FOR THE TIME IT TOOK US TO TRAVEL A MILE OR TWO FROM THE
PRISON CAMP, and then it died away. They told us later that the guerrillas had drawn
off, and now were protecting our flank.
Our first halt was at a little barrio called Platero,
which I thought at the time must have been three
or four miles from camp, but some of our guides
said it wasn’t anything like that. Maybe two miles.
But all the traveling had been cross-country and
in our physical condition each mile got longer and
longer as we marched. Even those in the bull carts
were wearied by the shaking and jolting. I think
there were more bull carts waiting at Platero, and
still more at another barrio further along; and as
those on foot weakened they were placed on these
new conveyances.
We must have rested at Platero for 20 minutes.
Then we started on again; still at a pretty good
pace, because, though a carabao isn’t speedy, you
can push him along at a fair rate.
It was at this first halt that I began to gather the
story of our rescue. There was little conversation
with anybody while we were traveling. We just
kept our mouths shut and did what we were told.
We were just so much baggage; the credit for
getting us out goes entirely to the Rangers and
the Alamo Scouts.
55 | “alarm” rescuers heard was 7 bells, navy time
The American rescuing force consisted of
121 Rangers, men specially trained to carry out
missions of this kind, in direct command of
Capt. Robert W. Prince of Seattle, Wash. Of course,
Lt. Col. Henry A. Mucci of Bridgeport, Conn.,
commander of the 6th Ranger Infantry Battalion,
was the overall commander of the operation, and
to his inspiring leadership and marvelous planning
we all owe our freedom; but Prince headed up the
actual attack on our camp. Mucci said to him, “It’s
your show; go ahead.”
Under Capt. Prince were two Massachusetts boys,
Lt. John F. Murphy of Springfield and Lt. William J.
O’Connell of Boston. After the rescue we three held
a sort of Bay State reunion. Weeks later, right here
in Boston, I met Capt. Prince again and so came to
really know him for the modest young American
that he is.
With the Rangers were 14 men of the Alamo
Scouts, a small body of picked men from various
outfits whose specialty is reconnaissance behind the
Jap lines. They always work in small groups, often
just two or three men. They’ve gone ashore on Jap
islands days before our landings in force; they’ve
�penetrated Jap positions time and time again in
recent months, and yet so skillful are they that they
hadn’t lost a single man up to the time I was last in
touch with them.
The Scouts had started out from the American
lines, about 30 miles away from our prison camp,
on the previous Saturday. The Rangers followed
24 hours later. They traveled by night and lay
low all day, making junction at two points with
sizable groups of Filipino guerrillas who aided in
the operation.
The story of the rescue party has been told
and I do not plan to repeat it. But there was one
happening that at first alarmed and thereafter
puzzled the Rangers and the Scouts. Only those
of us who were inside the camp can clear it up.
For sometime before the opening of the firing the
Americans had been lying close to the camp. The
Scouts were so brilliant at their work that they’d
actually been watching the whole area all day; two
of them had been for many hours within 75 yards of
the Nip sentries. They sent word back to Col. Mucci
in the middle of the afternoon. Then the Rangers
started forward, worked their way across the open
fields, and then closed in under cover of darkness.
Shortly before 7:30 that night they had most of
the place completely covered – the pillbox defense
near the northeast corner, a guard on the watchtower, and the guard post near the gate on the
Cabanatuan main road. One detail (Lt. O’Connell’s
platoon) had been assigned to rush in when the
gate was blown open, and wipe out the Jap prison
guards in their quarters and whatever transient
force might be found in the Jap area.
Another detail, commanded by Lt. Murphy, was
working its way around to the back of the camp.
They were scheduled to start the party.
In this critical period an “alarm bell” sounded
inside the camp. The rescuers thought for a moment
(as they told me on the way out) that they had been
discovered and that the great advantage of surprise
had been lost.
But nothing happened after the “alarm,” and they
proceeded according to plan.
Now the “alarm” could have been only one thing
– our camp time gong. We had become so accustomed to hearing the hour and half-hour struck
regularly (Navy time, in “bells”) on an old railroad
56 | “alarm” rescuers heard was 7 bells, navy time
car wheel that served as a camp bell that we scarcely
noticed it. I am not conscious that the bell did
ring that night, but it must have. It always did. So,
assuming that the attack opened about 8:45, the
“alarm” our rescuers heard must have been our
man striking 7 bells (7:30).
(Just when the attack did begin is something of
a puzzle. Fr. Dugan at first thought it was before
7:30. One account by Col. Mucci says it got underway at exactly 7:30. Another Mucci account, that of
the Infantry Journal which carries a detailed time
schedule that looks like the figures from an official
report, says that the boys at the front of the camp
were all set at 7:25 and that Lt. Murphy started the
attack at the back of the camp at 7:45. And everybody seems to agree that the firing lasted about 15
or 20 minutes. From my own study of the available
evidence I think the attack started at 7:45, and the
“alarm” was the 7:30 time bell. – W. de L.)
We were told that when the attack opened the
Jap sentries went down at the first fire. The barracks
occupied by the Jap commander and his guard were
riddled by fire from the road (directly through the
fence) and then the gate was blown open. The Rangers made their way up the little road between our
area and the Jap camp, raining fire on the barracks.
One of our Rangers told me about the Jap commander rushing out of his door in the darkness,
shouting in English, “Here, what goes on?” Then
he dropped in his tracks with a dozen bullets
in him.
In 20 minutes not a Jap survived. Not only was
the guard wiped out, but also some Nips that had
come in for a daytime stop-over and were ready to
pull out for the battle front with a tank and trucks.
We pieced some of this story together in the
course of our journey to safety (though many of the
details we did not learn until later) and there came
to us a deep sense of gratitude for what these men
and their Filipino associates had done for us.
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
chapter twenty-one
End of Long Trip Was Like
a Triumphal Procession
T
HERE GREW IN OUR MINDS AS WE CONTINUED THE MARCH A REALIZATION
OF HOW PROVIDENTIAL HAD BEEN ALL THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE
PREVIOUS THREE WEEKS. As I have told before, there was one two-day period when we
had been freed from all surveillance at the camp. In those two days we raided the Jap area and
moved great stores of food into our prison compound.
That extra food, over the three weeks before our
liberation, built new strength in even the weakest
of our little group of prisoners. Had the rescuers
come much earlier on their mission few of our
nearly 480 patients would have been able to make
the trip out.
For you must remember that the sole reason that
these men had been left at camp when all the other
prisoners had been moved out in October ’44 (most
of them to Japan), was that Jap doctors themselves
had certified them as being too ill to be moved. They
were the sickest, the weakest. Now here they were
making this journey, most of them on foot in its
first few miles. Certainly God was with us; the very
sufferings with which these men had been
afflicted led directly to their rescue.
Our rescuers were less fortunate than we. As we
were passing out of the prison and across the road to
begin our march, one of the Rangers was dying close
to the prison gate.
“Leave me here,“ he urged, but the men stayed with
him until he died. I was told that his body was taken
by the guerrillas and buried with honors the next day.
The other man was not a fighter but a doctor –
Capt. James C. Fisher of Vermont, son of Dorothy
Canfield Fisher, the writer. He had volunteered to
make the trip in order to help care for our sick men;
now he was dying of Jap wounds. They carried him
along until we reached the first halting place. There
it was plain that he could not hope to survive the
journey, so when the column moved on some of
the men remained with him. They included one of
our prison doctors, Maj. Stephen Sitter, of the Army
Medical Corps, a few of the Alamo Scouts, Filipino
patriots, and Fr. Hugh Kennedy, S.J., Army chaplain,
one of the freed group
I got the story from Fr. Kennedy two days later.
Capt. Fisher died that night or early in the
following day, and was buried close by.
Nearly 1000 Filipinos gathered at his grave, and
a Filipino doctor spoke to them in Tagalog, telling
what a brave man this was. He had laid down his
life in their cause.
“This place where he lies,” he told his compatriots, “must be held forever sacred, to be set aside as
a memorial park.”
57 | end of long trip was like a triumphal procession
�A cross was erected over the grave, and Capt.
Fisher’s identification tag was hung from it.
“If the Japanese destroy this marker,” the Filipino leader said, “his second dogtag will be found
in a tree,” which he pointed out to the throng. He
warned that should the Japs approach, the cross
must be removed and concealed, and then put
back when the enemy had gone.
“This park, which we shall make, is to be known
through all time as Fisher Park,” he said.
After the ceremony our men remained near the
barrio all day, and that night came in through the
lines with the aid of the guerrillas.
Meanwhile we had been moving on through the
night, across open fields and through wooded areas,
and as we marched the moon rose over the hills.
Without its light, it seems to me now, the march
would have been impossible. Some may have been
fearful that long before we reached our lines we
might be shot down in some Jap ambuscade. Yet
the calmness and coolness of our rescue party must
have inspired everyone with confidence.
We moved in a long column, the bull carts usually
in single file and we who walked straggling along
beside them in twos and threes. And always we
were shepherded by our rescuers and their
Filipino aides.
There were three or four rests. Once or twice we
had to cross main highways on which the Japs were
moving troops. There were halts until the way was
clear, and then we went across as fast as possible.
The skill of our guides got us through. An hour or
so after daybreak we arrived at the barrio of Sibul,
close to the American lines, which had been pushed
forward in the three days since the rescue party
started out.
“Stay where you are; we will get you,” was the message that came over the field radio from our Army.
It was in the period waiting at Sibul that I first
met Col. Mucci, and we met as a couple of fellow
New Englanders.
“You’ve done a wonderful job,” I said to him.
“The boys did a fine job,” was the way he put it.
Then he added: “But it isn’t done until we get you
to Guimba.” The town of Guimba, (its real name,
I think, is San Juan de Guimba) was inside the
American lines.
Now came a new thrill. Down the road rolled a
line of American trucks – ambulances, jeeps and
other vehicles – carrying heavily armed guards.
And what a greeting they gave us . . . shouting and
cheering . . . handing out cigarettes and chocolate
and candy . . . making us feel that now the danger
certainly was over and that our long adventure
was ended.
They drove us to the 92nd Evacuation Hospital at
Guimba – past lines of American boys waving to us
and yelling, so that it was like a triumphal procession. And at the ride’s end we were greeted by a big
group of officers.
Baths, with plenty of water for all of us. Clothes,
too; and of course special attention for those who
were in need of medical care. And greatest of all,
our first American chow in 34 months.
A Navy warrant officer sat beside me and downed
his first long drink of steaming, fragrant American
coffee. “Boy,” he said, “now I really have a jag on.”
Then came Gen. MacArthur. Only 12 hours after
our arrival he dropped in to visit us . . . and what
a wonderful impression he made. In plain suit of
suntans and garrison cap he came among us, spoke
to hundreds, passed out cigars. So we were really
back home now . . . back again with our old chief,
our beloved leader.
the end.
58 | end of long trip was like a triumphal procession
�life & death in a japanese pow camp
Appendices
SERVICE BIOGRAPHY
Dugan, S.J., John J. (New England)
service biography
born
26 jun 1897
entered society
30 jul 1915
ordained
20 jun 1928
appointed to army
28 aug 1936
serial number
0348200
to the rank of captain
6 feb 1941
to major
18 feb 1945
to lieutenant colonel
(massachusetts national guard)
11 may 1946
separated from the
massachusetts national guard
as colonel
jun 1953
separated from the army reserve
as lieutenant colonel
25 may 1954
59 | service biography
�appendices
assignments: 1937 – 1945
Chaplain USAR, CCC, Vt. (Nov 1937 to Jun 1940); Fort Riley, Kan. (Jun 1940 to
Sep 1941); to Philippines (Oct 1941); to Bilibid Prison, Manila (20 Jun 1942); to
Cabanatuan, Luzon, Prison Camp #1 (3 July 1942); to Cabu, Luzon, Prison Camp #3
(10 Jul 1942); to Cabanatuan, Luzon, Prison Camp #1 (1 Nov 1942); liberated by
6th Ranger Battalion (30 Jan 1945); arrived in San Francisco (8 Mar 1945); Chaplain,
Cushing General Hospital, Framingham, Mass. (May 1945).
relieved of active duty
25 aug 1946
recalled
21 jun 1948
assignments: 1948 – 1953
Randolph Field, Tex. (Jun 1948); Oliver General Hospital, Augusta, Ga. (Sep 1949);
Fort Custer, Mich. (Feb 1950); Camp Crawford, Hokkaido, Japan (Oct 1950);
Guam (Feb 1951)
relieved of active duty
jun 1953
awards
bronze star;
army commendation ribbon
60 | assignments
�appendices
BOSTON GLOBE, APRIL 15, 1943
Maj. J. J. Dugan. S.J., Boston,
Jap Prisoner in Philippines
Maj. John J. Dugan, S.J., former City Hospital
chaplain and Army chaplain at Bataan, is a prisoner of the Japanese in the Philippines, according
to a card received from him yesterday by Very Rev.
James H. Dolan, S.J., New England provincial of
the Society of Jesus.
He had been reported missing in action in
February, although believed to have been taken
prisoner at that time with 23 other chaplains.
The Army chaplain, a native of South Boston,
has two brothers, William F. of 41 Hinckley Road,
Mattapan, and Walter of Panama, and two sisters,
Mrs. Stephen Cronin of 4 Elmer Ave., Saugus and
Theresa, stationed in Baltimore as a member of the
Order of the Little Sisters of the Poor.
61 | maj. j. j. dugan, s.j., boston, jap prisoner in philippines
�appendices
WOODSTOCK LETTERS: 74, 154-157 (1945)
The American Spirit
I
CAN TELL THE WHOLE STORY OF MY COMRADES DURING THESE PAST THREE
YEARS IN A FEW SIMPLE WORDS. Those words are these – they proved themselves real
Americans; Americans with honesty, courage, Godliness and fine common sense; Americans who
never faltered and who may have feared, but were too proud to admit it.
Many of them found God in death; others found
their God with me in the simple service we were
allowed to hold in our rude little prison chapel.
Yes, we lived a barbaric, cruel and often bestial
existence. But we lived a life which bound each
unto the other and we shared the pain and suffering of imprisonment under our ruthless Japanese
captors with the same community feeling with
which we are now sharing our freedom under the
Army officers and men who are almost too kind to
be real.
I was one of those few fortunate men who
missed the Death March – I was ill, too ill to walk,
and even the Japanese apparently feared to infringe
greatly at that time on the Church.
But everywhere around me I saw what they did
to our men. First they confiscated everything we
had – our few precious remaining valuables and
keepsakes, what little food we had saved aside,
and, yes, even our medicines.
Not then, nor weeks later, nor months later, did
they ever give us that medicine we needed so badly
for our wounded and our dying.
62 | woodstock letters: the american spirit
They did everything they could to starve us,
but they forgot one thing – the American spirit.
Our boys had that from the start to the finish and
they absolutely refused to let the Japanese crush
that spirit.
Deliberately, in the first days, they did all they
could to confuse us. There were frequent moves,
disquieting reports which they circulated of what
our leaders were doing, propaganda about how
America was about to surrender.
It achieved them no good except to create an
even deeper distrust and dislike.
Our death toll at first was staggering. In the
early days at Camp Cabanatuan, second only to
the terrible scenes at Camp O’Donnell for savage
administration, our soldiers were dying at the rate
of fifty a day.
Then, in late November of 1942, we were given
our first Red Cross parcels – parcels with food,
medicine, cigarettes and even some reading matter
which the enemy troops let pass.
Nothing was received in all the time we were
imprisoned that did so much to lift our morale, to
�increase our confidence and to cut our death rate.
That medicine meant the difference between life
and death for many scores of our men.
All the officers, chaplains and doctors had to do
manual labor in the fields every day, working from
dawn to dusk.
Our jobs ranged from cleaning latrines to farming and wood chopping. And those who failed to
meet the schedule the Japanese had set were beaten
and sometimes executed.
I’ve seen more than one American beaten to
death because he lacked both the strength and the
will to keep up the back-breaking physical labors
our captors demanded.
Certain memorable highlights stand out in
those three years we were in captivity, but not many.
In time, often in a very short time, the sheer weight
of living becomes so heavy you strive to let each day
pass with as little notice as possible, except for a
thankful prayer that you are still alive.
I could tell of tens and tens of thousands of terrible things we saw and heard, of little events which
we magnified so much at the time, but which seem
so small to us now, of more of that same type of
camaraderie I mentioned before.
But fortunately, while the hardships of those
years will always remain, somewhere deep within
us, it’s the brighter things we like to remember.
For example, the wonderful kindness of all the
Filipinos who willingly sacrificed their lives and
freedom to bring us gifts of food or medicine.
I cannot find words to praise too highly their
unselfishness, their loyalty and their friendship for
us when we were representatives of what seemed to
everyone but them and us, a great lost cause.
I can give the time right down to the minute
when our captors knew that our cause was not a lost
one. It was 10:30 a.m. on Sept. 21 of last year. We
were working in the fields when that hope flew past
high above us – in the form of at least 150 carrierbased planes.
We should have been beaten to death had we
showed the least outward signs of happiness, but
you can imagine what joyfulness seethed within.
That moment, I think, we all knew better than
ever before that the Americans were on the way
back to us for sure.
63 | woodstock letters: the american spirit
It was an unforgettable day in all our lives.
I like to recall Christmas Eve of 1942, also – an
evening which will live in my mind as one of the
great experiences of all my imprisonment.
We secured permission from the prison
authorities to hold Christmas services in the fields
near Cabanatuan. All the churches and all denominations were represented in that picturesque setting
and 6,000 American soldiers came to that single
service of belief.
I am sure God looked down on us that night
and today I am equally sure that He answered
our prayers.
Of course, Tuesday night, Jan. 30, was our night
of redemption and there’ll never be another quite
like it for any of us.
If all Americans are pouring into this war the
same efforts those 120 Rangers gave, individually
and collectively, to rescue us from almost certain
death, then I know why we are winning this war.
They did an absolutely herculean task with
truly beautiful teamwork.
You just can’t put into words what your heart
feels when freedom – the last thing you have
learned to expect after three years of prison –
is suddenly yours.
What perhaps made it most realistic to me was
that two friends – Lieut. John Murphy of Springfield, Mass., and Lieutenant O’Connell of Boston –
were among the first to recognize me and tell me it
was not a dream, but reality.
Then I knew that even though there was a long
march ahead of us, home lay at the end of the road.
Our Government cannot reward too highly
Colonel Mucci and his Rangers for what they did.
I want to say once again that the morale of our
men the night we left Cabanatuan was the same
strong, unflinching morale they’d showed throughout, and I want to say again how proud they make
me feel to be an American.
How do I feel about this new freedom? It’s like
walking in a new and wonderful world.
captain john j. dugan, s.j.,
u. s. army chaplain
�BOSTON GLOBE, FEBRUARY 2, 1945
Fr. Dugan was Chaplain
at Boston City Hospital
R
ELATIVES AND FRIENDS OF MAJ. JOHN J. DUGAN, S.J., 47, A NATIVE OF
BOSTON, former Boston City Hospital chaplain and prisoner of the Japanese since the
fall of Bataan, were elated yesterday on the announcement of the news that he had been
rescued in the daring attack Wednesday night on a Jap prison camp on Luzon by men of
th
the 6 Ranger Battalion and Filipino guerrillas.
William F. Dugan, an executive at the Buck
Printing Company, 154 Newbury St., and a brother
of the priest-chaplain, said that he was stunned
yesterday morning when his wife called him at the
office and gave him the glad news.
“Apparently, he had had a hard experience
during the long days since Bataan,” the printing
executive said. “You know he was one of the first
members of the New England Jesuit Province to
enter the Army for service in the Far East.”
When the Boston Globe yesterday broke the
news to Mrs. Stephen Cronin of 4 Elmer Ave.,
Saugus, that her brother, Maj. Dugan, a prisoner
of war, had been rescued by the Yanks on Luzon,
her heartfelt words were – “Thank God.”
Mrs. Cronin said she had last heard from her
brother two weeks ago, when she received a post
card mailed last May.
Fr. Dugan was graduated from Boston College
High School in 1915, after which he entered the
Jesuit Order at St. Andrew-on-the-Hudson. From
1927 to 1929 he attended Weston College and was
ordained there in 1928.
From 1929 to 1931 he was prefect of discipline at
Boston College High School, and from 1932 to 1937
served as chaplain at the Boston City Hospital.
During the period from 1937 to 1939 he was an
Army chaplain in the Civilian Conservation Corps
and was stationed at Fort Ethan Allen, Vt. He was
called to regular Army service in 1940 and served
at Fort Riley, Kan., until 1941, when he was transferred to the Philippines, arriving shortly before
the United States declared war on Japan.
During the early part of August, 1943, definite
word came through that the Boston priest was a
prisoner interned in Philippine military prison
camp No. 1.
Besides his brother William living in Milton,
another brother, Walter V. Dugan, is engaged in
construction work in the Canal Zone. In addition to
Mrs. Cronin, the priest has another sister, Theresa,
now stationed in Baltimore as a member of the
Order of the Little Sisters of the Poor.
64 | boston globe: fr. dugan was chaplian at boston city hospital
�BOSTON GLOBE, APRIL 1, 1945
Maj. Dugan to Talk
at Patriot’s Day Service
M
AJ. JOHN J. DUGAN, ARMY CHAPLAIN, WHOSE THRILLING STORY OF
LIFE IN A JAPANESE PRISON CAMP begins in today’s Globe, will be among
the speakers at interdenominational religious services Patriot’s Day at 11 a.m. on
Gen. MacArthur Mall, Boston Common.
Sponsored by Mayor John E. Kerrigan, the services are to be held in honor of men and
women who have died in World War I and II. Invitations are being extended to all religious, military and civic
leaders in the city to participate.
65 | boston globe: maj. dugan to talk to patriot’s day service
�NEW ENGLAND PROVINCE NEWS, 1965
Fr. John J. Dugan, S.J.
1897 – 1964
I
T SEEMED TRAGIC BUT FITTING THAT FR. JOHN J. DUGAN SHOULD DIE IN
THE BOSTON CITY HOSPITAL WHERE HE HAD SERVED SO LONG and memorably
as Chaplain. Despite all the efforts of doctors and nurses, Fr. Dugan succumbed to three heart
attacks over a period of two weeks on Dec. 6, 1964. His family were visiting him when the last
attack seized him.
John Dugan graduated from Boston College
High School in 1915 and entered the Society at
St. Andrew-on-Hudson. His regency found him
teaching at Brooklyn Prep. After ordination he
returned to Boston College High as Prefect of
Discipline. The alumni remember Fr. Dugan for
his manly appearance and firm discipline.
After tertianship, Fr. Dugan returned to
Boston to succeed the famous Fr. Louis Young,
then hopelessly ill, as Chaplain of the tremendous
City Hospital. In those days there was only one
Chaplain. He was “on duty” 24 hours a day, every
day of the year. Fr. Dugan, like Fr. Young before
him and Fr. John Madden after him, had a direct
extension phone from the hospital. It was usual to
hear the phone ring all hours of the night. Day or
night, Fr. Dugan always appeared well groomed
and spotlessly attired.
Many of the benefits and privileges accorded the
Chaplains of the hospital today were won for them
by Fr. Dugan’s efforts. The Operating List, the Communion rounds, and the right of the patient to see
the priest before an operation so that the
Chaplain took precedence over the medical service
were largely the result of Fr. Dugan’s determined
insistence to establish a strong Catholic tone in an
equally strong non-Catholic environment. The results then and now surpassed all belief. Thousands
of souls each year received sacramental administration. Hundreds of babies were baptized. The hospital personnel have gone to untold lengths to assist
the Chaplains until today the Boston City Hospital
is regarded by many Jesuits as the most Catholic
hospital in all their experience.
In 1936 Fr. Dugan enlisted in the Army. He was
assigned to one of the most arduous and taxing of
all assignments: the C. C. C. Camps where so many
high school “drop-outs” and graduates matriculated
in the days of the “Depression,” when employment
was unobtainable and no one had money to go on
to college.
Shortly before World War II broke, Fr. Dugan
was transferred to Fort Riley in Kansas, and then
on to the Philippines in October, 1941. Captured by
the Japanese, he was made to serve as Chaplain of
the many prison camps. In the next four years his
66 | boston globe: fr. john j. dugan, s.j., 1897 – 1964
�health was undermined, and he was on the point
of starving when rescued by the Ranger Battalion
in 1945. Those four years are a sacred arena of
military martyrdom that Fr. Dugan could seldom
be persuaded to recall. The hundreds of prisoners
who remembered his devotion to the sick and
dying U. S. prisoners brought him the Bronze
Star and the Army Commendation Ribbon and
countless tributes on his return to Boston in 1946.
Now a Colonel, Fr. Dugan spent the next two
years as Chaplain of the Cushing Hospital in
Framingham, where he was regarded more as a
patient himself than as a Chaplain. In the Japanese
prison camps he had lost all his teeth, and was
under 120 pounds. In the years to follow Fr. Dugan
never fully recovered from his prison ordeal. He
served as Chaplain in Texas, Georgia, Michigan,
Manila and finally in Japan, until he retired from
Army service and the Army Reserve in 1953.
After some assignments in parishes of the
Southern Province, Fr. Dugan returned to Boston
to join the Jesuit Mission Band. His experience in
hospitals and army life provided a rich background
for his Mission talks. Simple and direct in his style,
he labored to improve his material and his delivery
to the day he died. He had been eleven weeks giving
Missions when he returned to the Immaculate
Conception Rectory late in November. Less than
a week later the first attack struck. Although the
doctors were hopeful of his recovery, this great
Soldier-Chaplain had fallen mortally stricken. A
few days later his Commander-in-Chief called him
for his eternal reward. His funeral was simple and
plain, with no military fanfare – as Fr. Dugan had
repeatedly requested. May he rest in peace.
francis j. gilday, s.j.
67 | boston globe: fr. john j. dugan, s.j., 1897 – 1964
�Acknowledgements
This publication of Life and Death in a Japanese POW Camp would not have been possible without the
permission granted by Brian McGrory, Editor-in-Chief of the Boston Globe and the courteous cooperation
of John L. Harrington, Chairman of the Yawkey Foundation.
Deserving of special appreciation for his careful research is David Horn, Special Projects Librarian, Burns
Library, Boston College. To whom deservedly added are Ben Birnbaum, Executive Director, Office of
Marketing Communications, for his interest and support and Diana Parziale, Art Director of the Office,
who, with her usual skill and expertise, oversaw the design, layout and production of this remarkable story.
68 |
�
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Joseph P. Duffy Collection of Digital Works
Subject
The topic of the resource
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85021043.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Catholic Church</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh87004995.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Jesuits--History--20th century</a>
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
<a href="https://lccn.loc.gov/n87831774" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Duffy, Joseph P.</a>
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Jesuit Archives & Research Center, St. Louis, Missouri
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Jesuit Archives & Research Center
Duffy, Joseph P.
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
Reproduced with permission of the Northeast Province of the Society of Jesus
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
PDF
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
JA-Duffy
Source
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
Northeast Province Archive
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Rights Holder
A person or organization owning or managing rights over the resource.
Northeast Province of the Society of Jesus
Abstract
A summary of the resource.
This collection contains publications edited by Joseph P. Duffy, S.J. regarding histories of New England Province Jesuits.
Date Accepted
Date of acceptance of the resource. Examples of resources to which a Date Accepted may be relevant are a thesis (accepted by a university department) or an article (accepted by a journal).
2016-09-06
Extent
The size or duration of the resource.
3 items
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939-1945, 1968
Date Created
Date of creation of the resource.
2016
Date Modified
Date on which the resource was changed.
2020-07-21
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
Electronic Book
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Life Under the Japs: Stories from a Prisoner-of-War Camp
Subject
The topic of the resource
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85106971.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Prisoners of war</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh2010108339.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Prisoners of war--Japan</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh2008109324.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Prisoners of war--Philippines--Biography</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85148273.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">World War, 1939-1945</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85148357.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">World War, 1939-1945--Chaplains</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh2008113866.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">World War, 1939-1945--Pacific Area</a>
<a href="%20%20http%3A//id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85021043.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Catholic Church</a>
<a href="http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh87004995.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Jesuits--History--20th century</a>
Description
An account of the resource
This publication, edited by Joseph P. Duffy, S.J., contains a series of oral histories originally conducted by Willard de Lue of the Boston Globe in April 1945. During the interviews, United States Army Chaplain, Major John J. Dugan, S.J. details his experience as a Japanese prisoner of war in the Philippines after the fall of Bataan in April 1942.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Dugan, John J.
De Lue, Willard
<a href="https://lccn.loc.gov/n87831774" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Duffy, Joseph P.</a>
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Jesuit Archives & Research Center
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Jesuit Archives & Research Center
Joseph P. Duffy
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
Joseph P. Duffy
Relation
A related resource
JA-Duffy
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
PDF
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
JA-Duffy-001
Source
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
Joseph P. Duffy
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Rights Holder
A person or organization owning or managing rights over the resource.
Joseph P. Duffy
Date Available
Date (often a range) that the resource became or will become available.
2016-09-06
Extent
The size or duration of the resource.
68 pages
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939-1945, 1968
Date Created
Date of creation of the resource.
2016
Date Modified
Date on which the resource was changed.
2020-07-21
Chaplains
Pacific Theater
Phillipines
Prisoners of War
United States Army
World War II