Ch 35 - Fletcher General Hospital, Cambridge Ohio

CHAPTER 35

FLETCHER GENERAL HOSPITAL

CAMBRIDGE, OHIO

When the train arrived at Cambridge, I saw only about half of us left the train. I said goodbye to several of the fellows remaining on the train, and I gave our nurse a hug and thanked her for being so kind and considerate. A small bus was parked nearby, and we all waved to the train before climbing aboard. The driver gave us a cheerful “all aboard” and started the engine and drove out of the parking lot to a street in front of the depot. He told us it was just a short drive out to the hospital. I just settled back and watched the scenery slide by. It was late fall, but the weather was pleasant.

The driver was correct when he said the hospital was a short distance out of town. As we pulled into a long drive leading back to the hospital I saw the hospital was a sprawling, one story affair. The grounds were still green, and covered with trees and shrubs. The bus pulled up before the front entrance where we all piled out with our belongings and filed through the wide, double doors. One of the other men handed our paperwork to a woman in uniform sitting behind the desk. She read one of the papers and looked up at us.

“I’ll get someone here that will get you located,” she smiled and picked up her phone and spoke briefly. Shortly, a young man popped through a door behind the desk and asked us to follow him. We straggled along behind the man, through long corridors and several doors until we entered a spacious room with two rows of beds, each made up neatly. It took little time for us to settle in and get comfortable. The young man returned and passed out a map showing the location of all of the important facilities in the hospital. He also gave each of us a lengthy questionnaire to fill out.

After getting settled in, our small group was ushered to the cafeteria for food and drink, and we were given a welcome talk by one of the hospital’s staff. He explained we would receive a thorough check-up here, and the staff would make every effort to aid in our getting acclimated into postwar America. I wondered what type of acclimation we might require to fit into everyday life in our homes, with our families and friends. It seemed to me it would be rather easy for me to be free, do as I wished, and mingle with others. Oh well, I thought, I can go along for the ride, providing these folks remained clear of my mind! I would not feel receptive to any further probing into my mind, and thought processes, by any ‘would be’ psychologists, or anyone else suggesting they knew the effects of the prison camp experience on my mental stability. I was not impressed by my confrontation with the psychologist at Madigan General Hospital for sure. I had quickly realized the doctor failed to seek out my feelings, and my thoughts on the impact of this horrible experience! Contrary to such an approach, he instead, informed me matter-of-factly, that he knew what was in my mind, and assured me he would remove such thoughts and hatred from my mind! When I informed him that there was no hatred, that I simply wanted to go home and see my family, and walk about in my old neighborhood and talk with friends, the ‘doctor’ would have none of it! He insisted I must be “rehabilitated”!

I decided I would resist being “rehabilitated”, that I would try once more to explain to the next one just how I felt, and if once again I was presented with a plan to “rehabilitate” me, I would just get up and walk out! I thought it better to remove myself than to become angry. As I had expected, my next encounter with a “shrink” was less abrasive, but followed the same line of attack. Instead of learning from our prison camp experiences, these people had predetermined our mental state, and incredibly, those I encountered, had established a plan to “fix” our heads. It was obvious to me that some of these doctors possessed little understanding of mental stability relating to the prison camp experience, and could not conceive of the reality that we might be “normal”. That we might possibly be just hungry for freedom, anxious to see our families.

As I look back to that uncomplicated time, I can say without question, I was anything but abnormal, certainly not up to par physically, but raring to go and anxious to slide into life as I knew it before my journey across the Pacific to the Philippines.

We were permitted to call home that evening, and I was excited to talk to my parents and ask if they could possibly drive to Cambridge. I talked to them for some time, savoring the sound of their familiar voices. My father said that they would be out as soon as possible, and I could hardly restrain my desire to see them. I wondered how much they had changed, after all I had been away for five years! Somehow it seemed much longer!

The following morning I was summoned to the front lobby, and as I passed through the door I saw them standing there waiting! I choked up as I looked at them anxiously awaiting for me to appear. And with them were my Aunt Jeanette and my Uncle Curt! I managed to walk calmly, resisting the urge to run to them! They all looked so good to me, so real. I think at this point I arrived at the realization that I was really back! I hugged them all, happiness welling up inside me.

We sat on the comfortable sofa in the lobby and talked. It was truly one of the most pleasant experiences of my life! I explained that soon I would be given a 30 day leave to go home. I told them I would catch the bus in Cambridge, and ride into Columbus! I was immediately informed by my Uncle Curt I would not ride the bus, they would all ride out to get me! I felt only love for them all, and I knew it would be difficult wait!

As it turned out, it was a week, and it rolled by quickly since I and the others were kept busy with examinations, and the repair of our teeth, which had suffered considerably from vitamin deficiencies and small, hidden rocks in the rice. My cavities were filled, and except for the large missing molar that the dentist, Dr. Richardson, had painfully pried from my gums, root by root, my teeth were pretty good, for awhile!

The following morning I was sitting at one of the tables in the cafeteria having my third or fourth cup of coffee when I sensed a shadow falling across my table. I glanced up and standing next to me, a very wide grin shining forth, was Jim Castle! I jumped up and hugged my old friend, and we sat at the table and drank coffee for hours, describing our adventures during the past three and a half years. No wonder I had heard nothing of Jim since the surrender. He was transported to Mukden Manchuria during the early part of captivity! He told of the terrible cold, and the severe losses that beset the POW’s in this frozen wasteland.

Of course he asked about Spence, and I told him of our separation at Nichols Field. I told him sadly that practically all of my close friends at Nichols were left behind, and I had learned nothing of their whereabouts since leaving Pasay School. Jim assured me they would all turn up soon. Perhaps old Spence would swagger through that big front door, grinning from ear to ear, just like old times.

That same evening Jim came to my ward and asked me to go to dinner with him and a friend. When we arrived at the cafeteria, he dragged me by the arm to a table occupied by a girl, a WAC. She arose to her feet and Jim introduced me to Ginny for the first time. Ginny was several years older that Jim, and was attractive and personable. We hit it of from the start, and it was obvious to me Jim Castle was quite serious about their relationship. We would spend many enjoyable times together, the three of us. Jim told me he also would be taking a thirty day leave soon and would contact me in Columbus.

Saturday morning arrived and I awaited the arrival of my parents and my aunt and uncle! I was really going home! My mother brought me a small suitcase, and I used it to pack my belongings in. We walked from the front doors of the lobby and they led me my uncle’s black, four door Chevrolet sedan. It was a beautiful car, shiny black with chrome strips along the sides! My aunt asked if I would like to drive! As I slid behind the wheel I noticed that the gearshift lever was not mounted on the floor, but was instead, mounted to the steering wheel column. My aunt demonstrated the shifting pattern to me and quickly I caught on and we were soon leaving the parking lot and turning on to the road leading into Cambridge. The drive along the highway to Columbus was a marvelous experience for me, and I savored every mile.

My parents had purchased a small home with two acres just outside Columbus. They directed me there, and we enjoyed a delightful get-together talking about the events of the past five years.

Two weeks into my thirty day leave I received the information I had been seeking. The whereabouts of Spence Bever’s mother! I was very excited and when the phone rang, I grabbed it up and it was Jim Castle! I told Jim I had located Spence’s mother and I wanted to go see her post haste. He asked where did she live and I read him the address. He yipped loudly!

“Hey! That’s very close to my brother’s place near Pataskala!”

“Can you take me there?” I questioned and he asked, “When?”

“The sooner, the better” I said.

“I’m on my way to pick you up,” Jim said.

Jim had already purchased a light blue 1941 Ford convertible, and in less than fifteen minutes he pulled up in front and tooted his horn. I was ready to go, and he pointed the Ford east, toward the country.

“How far is it?” I asked him and he told me it was about twenty miles out to his brother’s, and the address I had given him was near Bill’s. About half an hour later Jim pulled into the gravel drive next to the mail box. I checked the number and I had a match!

“Go ahead and pull up there next to the house,” I told him.

I found myself growing very nervous as I stepped up on the porch and knocked at the door. She came to the door clad in a house dress, a frilly apron covering the front of the dress. When she recognized me she gave a cry and jerked the screen open and grabbed me in a bear hug! Blanch looked so good to me I hugged her and kissed her on the cheek!

Tears were flowing from both our eyes, and we just stood and looked at each other!

“Are you alright?” she said softly, and I nodded.

I think then I somehow knew. Spence was not here! I looked at her and shook my head. I knew it was not necessary to ask. I just seemed to sense it.

“He isn’t home yet?” I asked her. She shook her head.

“Spencer won’t be coming home,” she cried, and I think I cried too.

“What happened, Mom?” She looked down.

“He was on one of those ships!” She was trying to control herself.

I led her into the room and we sat down on the couch. I began talking, taking it from the beginning. I described our adventures as we traveled across the country, and across the Pacific to the islands. I slowly gave her a word picture of our times on Corregidor, of the war, and the surrender. I took it up to where we were divided by the Japanese. I briefly carried it through my trip to Japan, and the air raids and fires. When I was finished I asked her what, if anything, she had learned of Spencer.

Blanche told me she had learned that he was aboard one of the “hell ships” that had sailed from Manila in October of 1944. The ship had been hit by an American submarine and only four or five men had survived. She had been furnished four of the men’s names and addresses, had written to each of them, and each had answered her. Her loss of Spence was so intense, at times she had to lie down with tranquilizers. She told me she had remarried and her husband was a good man. They had bought this farm and were happy here, but when the news of Spence had arrived, she almost lost the will to go on.

It was then I noticed the framed drawings on the wall. I was drawn to these pictures like a magnet! I could just not believe the drawings were here! I asked her how in the world did get them and she told me the story.

Captain Schmidt had became very ill at the Cabanatuan Camp after returning from Nichols Field, and had someone bury the drawings along with his belongings under his barracks. Many of the occupants at that camp had also buried documents and diaries there and when hostilities ceased, someone dug up all the material they could locate, and shipped everything to Washington! An agency in the Government then located the families, made contact, and sent the men’s possessions to their families.

Jim Castle joined us and the three of us spent a long afternoon talking of the past. I found it very difficult to leave Blanche, but promised to return often. I borrowed the framed drawings for copying, kissed her on the cheek and Jim and I drove off.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. Spence was gone.

I suppose I knew it all along, but I had continued to hope against hope that my old friend would appear. It was now final. My boyhood friend would not be coming home. Our many plans, devised at Nichols Field, and Pasay School, would not reach fruition. We wouldn’t be traveling to South America or Saudi Arabia to work for oil companies, or anyone else. I would be forced to fall back and regroup, rethink my plans for the future!

The month rolled by quickly. I could hardly believe it was over as I sat watching the countryside slide by from the window of the bus taking me back to Cambridge. After I had checked into the hospital, and joined Jim Castle again once again, I learned I was facing a major decision. Do I remain in the Army, or rejoin civilian life? Since my Uncle Curt had informed me that he had arranged with the large company he worked for to provide me with a job after my discharge from the Army, I leaned toward that choice.

Several of the Army's so-called experts had indeed affected me negatively on the subject of mental harm suffered from the long term in Japanese prison camps. I felt strongly about my ability to face the everyday world without fear of psychological difficulties, for I had survived because I had already learned it was the mentally strong who kept on living. I suspected there would bleak depressions ahead, but that I would survive because I had survived in the past. I had seen men, much stronger physically than I, and in better condition, simply give up and slide towards death's resignation, because they simply let go of hope.

Physically, I was somewhat worse for the wear, worse even than I would admit to myself, but I was positive I could cope with whatever the future might hold psychologically.

My options were simple. Stay in the Army, take a civilian job, or push off on my own to South America or elsewhere for adventure!

I decided to join James E. Castle on his journey to Camp Atterbury, Indiana for his Army discharge. It was now December 1945, and it was cold! Jim was driving a 1941 Ford convertible, and this was anything but a cold winter type automobile! The drive from Columbus, Ohio to the Army base in Indianapolis was truly an adventure! We drove most of the night through a snow blizzard, stopping for coffee and food.

During the discharge proceedings at Camp Atterbury I ran afoul of another “shrink”. This was again a Major, but one without a persecution complex. The Major persisted that I remain in the Army. He voiced concern that each POW, and the military, should determine without any doubt, the mental and physical stability of the POW. The Major argued that once the individual returned to civilian life and was beset with problems not apparent at the time of discharge, it might prove difficult to locate medical care blessed with knowledge of POW related ailments. I acknowledged this could possibly happen and thanked the Major for his consideration before leaving his office.

Unfortunately, this Major was right, one of the few. The back problems, and the stomach problems began to appear a few months later. Looking back now, do I wish I had remained in the Army? From the standpoint of physical problems relating to the prison camp experiences, yes. But considering the vast storehouse of knowledge I learned from thirty two years in the engineering field working for three companies, I would not change a thing!

As I look back upon those years, I have few regrets. Perhaps I would not be alive today writing this if the cards had been dealt differently! I might have served in North Africa, Italy or Europe, and perhaps my name would be found on a cross somewhere across the Atlantic. If perhaps my name were not called at Pasay School House that fateful evening among those two hundred numbers, I would not have been on the Noto Maru shipping list, for that old, rusty freighter was one of the very few that successfully sailed from Manila to Japan without mishap. I know of no others that made the journey from the Philippines without the deaths amongst their POW cargo, packed in airless holds and treated worse than cattle.

I will always be thankful to my God that I was chosen to return to my family and my home. During the war, and throughout those years in the dreaded prison camps I was often near death, and death was always nearby, in the gloom around me. It could have been my lot to be chosen to board one of the death ships, ships fated to be struck by American torpedoes. So many of my friends names appear on the marble slabs and the crosses of the American Cemetery in Manila. The endless marble lists of names of those men never recovered from the prison camps, nor the depths of the sea. Yes, I am indeed fortunate to have returned, to have lived a fruitful life with my wonderful wife and children.

I harbor no resentment against the young Japanese. I have participated in student exchange programs, and have welcomed them into my home as part of my family. Through them, and by their goodwill, I have returned to Japan at the request of community groups there. I have seen how their present governments keep their young generations as ignorant of the truth of the war today, as their wartime governments kept them from knowing the truth of their wartime barbarities then.

Health and age have finally prevented me from visiting Corregidor regularly, for it has been my place of contemplation of all these things. It's where I sit and hear the voices of my young friends and colleagues. It's where I can sit amidst the broken-down ruins of my youth, America's naive youth, and see in my mind's eye no ruins at all.

I must also be thankful for the Enola Gay and Bock's Car.

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