The Wilmington morning star. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1909-1990, 1945-11-03
Gen. Wainwright Tells
OfLast Tarlac Day,

| 11pluO pOy, ~ VI IL years VIZ
standing at the side of the roae
The Jap guard walked menacing
ly close to the kid, but he neve1
missed note, never falte-ed, unit,
\ the whole line had passed.
= I think we must have walked 8
little straighter, little briskel
the rest Of the way to the railroad
station.
> We were aboard the train and en-
, route to Manila before am,
! chunging through land so familiar
that we expected momentarily to
recognize friends, And, indeed, we
did. The train paused at little
ST ton named Dao, which is just
five miles east Of my old Fort
Stotsenburg. And there on the
platform Maj. Gen. Edward P.
King and I saw a Filipino lad
who had worked for us. He was the
son Of a cook. Both father and son
were working for me the day the
JAP bombers came over Stotsen-
burg and bombed nearby Clark
-ield. Both, incidentally, fled out
the back door Of my house tina,
day, leaving only good old Fele-
mr.l San Pedro to bring me the
beer I ordered during the raid.
They did not return for two days
aftez: the raid.
But I was glad to see the lad and
so was Gen. King. King generous
ly took all the Philippine money he
had in his pockets and pressed it
in the boys hand, telling him TO
share it with his father.
The train moved on and we ar
rived in Manila at pm. We were
piled into trucks and, to my aston
ishment, l saw that the driver Of
my truck was an American sol
der. We were heavily guarded,
but he had some whispered news
tn sent a great thrill through my
body. He leaned over to me and
said:
General, this is the straight |
Our Marines have landed in the
Solomons. Place named Guadal-
canal, and they're doing great"
Thank God, I said to myself !
Thank God. The Solomons were
an eternity of miles below us, and
We were now being moved in the
opposite direction, but at last we
were fighting back, fighting back |
fighting back with what must be
the tools we need in the first place.
The truck carried us straight to
I Ter 7, the largest in Manila. Sigh.
of the pier, whose end had been
chewed Oft by Jap bomb, filled
me with mixed emotions. 1t was on
this same pier that I had last seen
my wife, the day she sailed for
home and blessed safety, Is months
before. I had, Of course, heard
nothing from her since my sur
render, and despite many appeals
had not been able to communicate
with her to tell her was still alive.
Tat is intense torture.
I peeked over my shoulder and
saw the reason. A long line of Jap
sailors reached from the pier, up
the gangplank and into the ship.
They began passing little square
cardboard boxes, in fire-bucket.
brigade style, into the ship. Each
box was labeled with Jap language
characters. The boxes, I knew,
contained the ashes of Jap soldiers
being sent to home shrines, and the
Japs wanted us to know nothing
about their casualties.
One was Lieut.. Kusomoto, the
Olympic discus thrower who had
been decent to us in our early days
Of captivity in Manila. He was
carrying carton of Lucky Strikes.
He nodded to me and then found
Sgt. Hubert Carroll, looked at me
again, and handed the cigarets to
Carroll.
Courtesy, you see, forbade his
handing the package to me, for
the Japs believe it is bad form for
general officer to carry any kind
OF burden, even one as precious
as those American cigarets. The
fact that at the moment I had a
heavy pack on my back made no
difference to Kusomoto.
II was at Karenko recently"
the Jap general beamed. "You
will find it very beautiful place.
Lots Of food: fish, fruit, meat and
sugar; very fertile country.
There's fine bathing beach near.
by and I'm sure you'll be permit.
ted to swim. Yes, you'll like Karen.
ko.''
With those words of his in mind
(and l was to think of them many
times later I boarded the Stinko.
Maru.