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General Jonathan Wainwright broadcasting surrender instructions of all Filipino and American forces in the Philippines over the radio on May 7, 1942. By July, American generals and other high ranking officers found themselves in captivity (photo below).
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Despite being mortified for disabling the President’s car, I tried to regain my composure and followed General Valdes as he walked briskly towards the office of the island commander. Quezon appointed Maj. Gen. Basilio J. Valdes commander of the Philippine Constabulary in 1939, and later chief of the Philippine Army. He became the third defense secretary of the Philippines, also under Quezon. The President and his driver remained in the car, following us slowly despite their flat tire. I turned to Sebo, the guard, and ordered him to return to his post. The President's itinerary was kept a secret to most everyone in the camp for obvious security reasons, except perhaps the camp commander and his staff who chose not to divulge the well-kept secret even to the sentries. For doing my duty in safeguarding the camp’s perimeter even at the expense of the presidential tire, I waited in bated breath to be given an on-the-spot promotion as a commissioned officer. It never came.
The President's presence created excitement. Every staff officer of Colonel Hilsman had converged around the Presidential car, including Hilsman himself. As soon as he stepped out of his car, everyone saluted the President, who returned the honor. In a fiery voice, the President said: “Hilsman, I know that it is not only Bataan holding the line but your line, too.” Eyeing Lieutenant Francisco Gomez (G-3) he said, “And you, Gomez, what is your rank?”
“First Lieutenant, Your Excellency,” came the reply. His insignia could not be seen. “Had you not resigned from Malacañang, you would have been a colonel now,” Quezon said. “Look at (Manuel) Nieto and (Jaime) Velazquez (Quezon’s military aides),” referring to the two men who remained in the car. Hilsman ushered the President and some of his aides into the headquarters. The rest of the President’s entourage emerged from their cars, including members of his family. Seated with Quezon were his wife Aurora, daughters Maria Zenaida and Maria Aurora, and son Nonong Jr., General Valdes, and Colonel Hilsman. The staff officers, after a few words with the President, disappeared to resume their tasks.
“Valdes! Valdes!” Quezon’s voice was clear. “Are we safe?”
“Yes, yes, Your Excellency.”
“Are we safe, Valdes?” the President asked again.
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Valdes reassured the President.
As the President settled onto a sofa, he asked Valdes, “Dónde está mi gora, Valdes?” The general walked hurriedly down to the two men in the vehicle and could be heard asking, “Where’s the cap of the President? Where’s the cap of the President?” The two men, Colonels Velasquez and Nieto, quickly ran back to the car and found the cap in the back seat. Quezon looked in bad shape and was sometimes out of breath, either from too much stress or from tuberculosis that consequently led to his death while in exile in the United States.
The hurried conversations were intermittently interrupted by his coughing. I remember that they laid out a bunch of fresh grapes on a side table, which the President apparently enjoyed nibbling on throughout his short stint. Grapes were a luxury in the Philippines in those days. The fruit was either imported or if it was grown locally, it could have only come from Baguio, a resort town blessed with cool weather all-year round and developed by the Americans as a summer capital up in the mountainous region of northern Luzon. The scene, more than the parade of the top brass in front of the President, had created such a big impression upon me about how powerful the presidency was. Even in wartime, it could afford such a luxury!
Also in the presidential party was Manuel A. Roxas, former speaker of the House of Representatives whom Quezon had just designated as his executive secretary as well as third in line of succession to the presidency in case the President and Vice President Sergio Osmeña were captured by the Japanese. “Manoling!” the President called out to Roxas. He understood the President had something to tell him and edged closer towards to him. Both men huddled in low voices as they took a few steps away from us. His business with the President over, Roxas quietly made his way out of the building. About half an hour later, the voice of Maj. Gen. William F. Sharp was heard. He was the commanding general of the United States Army Forces in the Far East (USAFFE) in Mindanao. Staring at Sharp in a disapproving manner, Quezon blurted out, “And you, carabao Sharp, who authorized you to print the emergency money!?”
My heart skipped a beat after hearing the President giving bent to his ire, and I found myself pacing at a short distance, anxious over the next turn of events. Quezon simply dismissed Sharp after the general had a short facetime with him. To convince myself that I was witnessing history unfold, I kept slowly turning my neck from side to side for I could not believe that luck had put me at the right place and at the right time to see this extraordinary chain of events. The President and his party left at around midnight. We knew he was up to something but we were not privy as to the exact details. It was only after it was announced that he had safely left the Philippines by PT boat from Dumaguete to Mindanao, and from there by plane to Australia, that a full picture of that night at Camp Barrett could emerge. He was there on his way to a dangerous journey that would ultimately take him to the United States on orders of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
To reach Negros Oriental, military planners had sketched a more difficult but less predictable route for him via Panubigan, Canlaon, a much rugged and mountainous terrain than the far easier northern route via Cadiz. He eventually made it to the United States, where he led a government-in-exile and died of tuberculosis before the end of the war. According to the unpublished memoirs of the late Manuel Quezon Jr., the Quezon family had been trying to stay incognito without much success while staying on the mountain resort of Buenos Aires in Ma-ao, Bago Negros Occidental. They had been there for about a month when it was decided that they would have to move again for it was becoming dangerous by the day as the Japanese were coming ever closer. He narrated how that trip to Dumaguete came about:
The President's presence created excitement. Every staff officer of Colonel Hilsman had converged around the Presidential car, including Hilsman himself. As soon as he stepped out of his car, everyone saluted the President, who returned the honor. In a fiery voice, the President said: “Hilsman, I know that it is not only Bataan holding the line but your line, too.” Eyeing Lieutenant Francisco Gomez (G-3) he said, “And you, Gomez, what is your rank?”
“First Lieutenant, Your Excellency,” came the reply. His insignia could not be seen. “Had you not resigned from Malacañang, you would have been a colonel now,” Quezon said. “Look at (Manuel) Nieto and (Jaime) Velazquez (Quezon’s military aides),” referring to the two men who remained in the car. Hilsman ushered the President and some of his aides into the headquarters. The rest of the President’s entourage emerged from their cars, including members of his family. Seated with Quezon were his wife Aurora, daughters Maria Zenaida and Maria Aurora, and son Nonong Jr., General Valdes, and Colonel Hilsman. The staff officers, after a few words with the President, disappeared to resume their tasks.
“Valdes! Valdes!” Quezon’s voice was clear. “Are we safe?”
“Yes, yes, Your Excellency.”
“Are we safe, Valdes?” the President asked again.
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Valdes reassured the President.
As the President settled onto a sofa, he asked Valdes, “Dónde está mi gora, Valdes?” The general walked hurriedly down to the two men in the vehicle and could be heard asking, “Where’s the cap of the President? Where’s the cap of the President?” The two men, Colonels Velasquez and Nieto, quickly ran back to the car and found the cap in the back seat. Quezon looked in bad shape and was sometimes out of breath, either from too much stress or from tuberculosis that consequently led to his death while in exile in the United States.
The hurried conversations were intermittently interrupted by his coughing. I remember that they laid out a bunch of fresh grapes on a side table, which the President apparently enjoyed nibbling on throughout his short stint. Grapes were a luxury in the Philippines in those days. The fruit was either imported or if it was grown locally, it could have only come from Baguio, a resort town blessed with cool weather all-year round and developed by the Americans as a summer capital up in the mountainous region of northern Luzon. The scene, more than the parade of the top brass in front of the President, had created such a big impression upon me about how powerful the presidency was. Even in wartime, it could afford such a luxury!
Also in the presidential party was Manuel A. Roxas, former speaker of the House of Representatives whom Quezon had just designated as his executive secretary as well as third in line of succession to the presidency in case the President and Vice President Sergio Osmeña were captured by the Japanese. “Manoling!” the President called out to Roxas. He understood the President had something to tell him and edged closer towards to him. Both men huddled in low voices as they took a few steps away from us. His business with the President over, Roxas quietly made his way out of the building. About half an hour later, the voice of Maj. Gen. William F. Sharp was heard. He was the commanding general of the United States Army Forces in the Far East (USAFFE) in Mindanao. Staring at Sharp in a disapproving manner, Quezon blurted out, “And you, carabao Sharp, who authorized you to print the emergency money!?”
My heart skipped a beat after hearing the President giving bent to his ire, and I found myself pacing at a short distance, anxious over the next turn of events. Quezon simply dismissed Sharp after the general had a short facetime with him. To convince myself that I was witnessing history unfold, I kept slowly turning my neck from side to side for I could not believe that luck had put me at the right place and at the right time to see this extraordinary chain of events. The President and his party left at around midnight. We knew he was up to something but we were not privy as to the exact details. It was only after it was announced that he had safely left the Philippines by PT boat from Dumaguete to Mindanao, and from there by plane to Australia, that a full picture of that night at Camp Barrett could emerge. He was there on his way to a dangerous journey that would ultimately take him to the United States on orders of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
To reach Negros Oriental, military planners had sketched a more difficult but less predictable route for him via Panubigan, Canlaon, a much rugged and mountainous terrain than the far easier northern route via Cadiz. He eventually made it to the United States, where he led a government-in-exile and died of tuberculosis before the end of the war. According to the unpublished memoirs of the late Manuel Quezon Jr., the Quezon family had been trying to stay incognito without much success while staying on the mountain resort of Buenos Aires in Ma-ao, Bago Negros Occidental. They had been there for about a month when it was decided that they would have to move again for it was becoming dangerous by the day as the Japanese were coming ever closer. He narrated how that trip to Dumaguete came about:
After sometime, for purposes of security I suppose, or perhaps my father received a message from MacArthur that we should join him in Australia, we set off again. The move was supposed to be a secret but somehow my sister Baby knew where we were going and with her predilection for punning, she said, 'A donde Bais.' According to my sister Nini, Baby felt her mission in life was punning. I believe Bais was in Negros Oriental and belonged then to Tabacalera or some other Spanish company.
Later-how much later escapes me-we went on our usual long caravan at night. I was in the back seat of the car with Dr. Trepp my father's Swiss TB expert and Director of Quezon Institute. Who our other companions were I have forgotten. It seems my mother's driver Pedro Payumo ('Pedro Taba') was driving-how he managed to come along I don't know - but I distinctly remember his asking us to keep talking as he was sleepy and it was dark but we-at least I-paid no attention and went back to sleep even though we could easily have fallen into a ditch.
It turned out that our destination was Dumaguete, which was pitch dark. There were a lot of people on the side of the road with bundles or cardboard boxes on their heads and also the church bells were ringing. It turned out that the people were alarmed by the sound of the PT boat's engines, which sounded like airplane engines. The PT boat had been sent to pick us up. We drove to the wharf and boarded the PT boat. How we all fitted in the PT boat, I don’t know. My mother and I entered the cabin where I put my head on her lap. I suppose the rest of the family were in the cabin but I remember only my mother and the cabin was pitch dark (http://www.quezon.ph/family/corregidor.html).
SURRENDER NOT AN OPTION
Eliodoro Ramos Jr. as an infant. He met the author in the Army and introduced him to his sister Eva.
It was on May 2, 1942 when we became aware that the country had been surrendered to the Japanese by General Wainwright after General MacArthur had made a safe getaway to Australia, where he made his immortal promise of “I shall return”. Upon the surrender of the Philippines, many soldiers were taken to a Japanese concentration camp in Fabrica town, north of the province. The stoic island commander and proud Texan, Colonel Hilsman, wept as he read to us the order to surrender at Camp Barrett in La Granja. I was in one of the last batches to be sent to Fabrica, along with sixty-seven other men who were ordered to board a truck headed for the camp as prisoners of war. The trip took place at night but upon reaching Honoban Bridge, in the boundary of La Carlota and La Castellana, the truck had a flat tire. The group left me alone in the truck along with four enlisted men to keep an eye on the vehicle while they hiked to a nearby sugarcane plantation (hacienda) to look for any truck tires to commandeer.
Three hours later, none of them had returned. It was probably the longest night I had ever experienced in my life. Thoughts of escaping crossed my mind during the long wait for my companions. One of my options was to slip out and stay with the family of a soldier that I had befriended back at the headquarters of Colonel Hilsman. After assessing my situation, I decided that surrender was not an option. So I jumped off the truck and disappeared down the creek under the bridge, traversing along sugarcane fields until I reached my friend’s house walking at a fast clip for a few hours. The family welcomed my arrival because on that very morning, they smelled danger. An armed man on a horse was circling their property, sent by their sworn enemies--hacenderos who owned the plantation adjacent to my hosts’ hacienda. I became close friends with Eliodoro Ramos Jr., the eldest child of my host, while we were stationed at Camp Barrett.
Three hours later, none of them had returned. It was probably the longest night I had ever experienced in my life. Thoughts of escaping crossed my mind during the long wait for my companions. One of my options was to slip out and stay with the family of a soldier that I had befriended back at the headquarters of Colonel Hilsman. After assessing my situation, I decided that surrender was not an option. So I jumped off the truck and disappeared down the creek under the bridge, traversing along sugarcane fields until I reached my friend’s house walking at a fast clip for a few hours. The family welcomed my arrival because on that very morning, they smelled danger. An armed man on a horse was circling their property, sent by their sworn enemies--hacenderos who owned the plantation adjacent to my hosts’ hacienda. I became close friends with Eliodoro Ramos Jr., the eldest child of my host, while we were stationed at Camp Barrett.
