Though Memorial Day is over, the speeches fading, the ceremonies concluded
and the living still living free, the purpose of the day lingers in my mind. Like
a lot of us, I didn’t always contemplate the sacrifices so many have made for
our freedom. It was something I took for granted.
But back in the early ’60s
when the Vietnam War was just beginning to ramp up for what was to come, I was
a young Marine stationed in Marine Barracks, Sangley Point, a guard company on
the island of Luzon in the Philippines. The off-duty section sometimes went off
together for a day or two of R&R.
One day, we boarded the admiral's boat and headed out across Manila Bay for Corregidor, another of
the 7,000 islands that make up the Philippines. They had also been bombed by the
Japanese right after Pearl Harbor and were controlled by them until the end of
the war.
Some of the
officers and senior NCOs in the guard company had fought all through the
Pacific. It wasn't something they talked about, but we knew they'd been there.
For most of us, though, who were 18, 19 or 20 years old, World War II was
“ancient history.” We didn't think much about it any more than they talked
about it.
On the boat ride
over to Corregidor, we drank San Miguel beer and were happy to have a day free
of duty—much like people do on holidays today. Once we disembarked, we walked
around looking at the rusting, pit-marked anti-aircraft guns, a lighthouse, an
old chapel, a small brig and other facilities you’d find on any American
military outpost.
Later, we walked
into a large opening in the side of a hill with “Malinta Tunnel” in large block
letters above the entrance. The top sergeant said it'd been Gen. Jonathan
Wainwright's headquarters and a hospital when he was trying to hold the
Philippines after Gen. Douglas MacArthur was ordered to Australia in early 1942
and gave his famous “I shall return” promise to his men and the press.
Faded message written on the wall inside Malinta Tunnel |
It was eerie to
walk through the tunnel that had been an army general's headquarters and a
hospital before it was taken over by the Japanese in a fierce battle. But the
cool damp breeze was a welcome relief from the hot tropical sun and heat
outside. We casually walked along talking, laughing and thinking about home and
little about the war.
On a wall of the tunnel, though, I saw some faded writing
that looked as if it had been written in charcoal. I stopped and read: “In this
tunnel lingers the memory of the Marines whom fate denied them the chance of
meeting you. Leave one smile & your name shall be praise. Pepe.”
I was moved by
the solemnity of the words and asked Top about them. He was a crusty old Marine
who'd spent nearly 30 years in the Marine Corps. Guadalcanal had been his first
campaign of World War II. He looked at me, then stared off toward the end of
the tunnel before answering.
“The Japanese
overran Corregidor in May of ’42,” he
said and explained that after Bataan fell, Corregidor was all that was left to
protect Manila. The Fourth Marine garrison of 1,500 men that was to defend
Corregidor received reinforcements of about 3,500 men. All of them fought under
the command of a Marine colonel. Some 800 of the defenders were killed in action
and another 1,000 were wounded.
I was struck by
what the top told me and went back to the base library and found an account of
the siege and fall of Corregidor. Wainwright’s radio message to President
Roosevelt regarding the surrender said simply, “There is a limit of human
endurance, and that point has long been passed.”
About 4,000 of
the U.S. and Filipino troops were taken to Manila and marched through the
streets to prisons at Fort Santiago and Bilibid. Most of the rest who were able
to work were sent to various Japanese prison camps or to Japan for slave labor.
Wainwright
himself was held in prison camps in northern Luzon and Formosa before being
taken to Manchuria, where he was kept until the Russians liberated him in
August 1945. He was the highest-ranking American POW in the war, and despite
his rank, his treatment by the Japanese was harsh.
I’ve never found
the numbers for how many of those taken prisoners on Corregidor died in
captivity or how many lived through the war. Many of them certainly died. But I’ve
never forgotten those words on the wall of Malinta Tunnel. And I've never
looked at Memorial Day or the sacrifices of those who gave their lives for our
freedom the same way since.
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