WORLD WAR II - EDMOND DEAN - Coke County, TX

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Submitted by Mary Love Berryman - marylove@tyler.net
7 Oct 2000
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The Observer/Enterprise, 12 Nov 1999, Robert Lee, TX

DEDICATED TO MY SON EDMOND

By Mare E. Dean

It was just a letter from Washington, 
"Missing in action" is what it said,
"Your son was serving in the Philippines."
Do prisons wall him or is he dead?

"You must meet the world with a smile" they say
"Other mothers their sons had to give."
But how can they know how my heart is torn,
They did not suffer the he might live.

Such a little while since he was a child.
And always so willing my lead to share.
I recall now the many things he did
My dear boy then so free from care.

How he mopped the floor when I was sick,
Brought all the clothes from off the line,
Warmed baby's milk as he watched the bread,
Helped get the children off to school on time.

But the sweetest memory of them all
And the one to my heart most dear,
Is how we two alone would kneel
And I heard his childish voice in prayer.

Asking God's blessing on each one of us
And his tone was tender and kind.
Little did I know how he'd need God,
Far away from home on the battle line.

Then I think how he sang as he milked the cows.
Also at church and at school each day.
When he volunteered "I'll be back soon" he said
And he smiled as he went away.

He gave his best of this, I'm sure
And my heart is warmed this to know
But it chills with terror when sleep is gone
And it seems my reason, too, will go.

Is he suffering, starving, maimed or diseased.
With all mercy gone and no one to care.
Or worse than death, do enemies' hands
Hold him fast and torture his there?

Dear God, have mercy on all boys at war.
And comfort all mothers like me.

ONE TEXAN'S FAMILY by Nora Dean
THE AGONY AND THE ECSTASY

This chapter is an attempt, however inadequate, to relate Edmond's
experiences and our experiences involving his imprisonment by the
Japanese during World War II.

Edward was serving in the armed forces and sailed for unknown parts of
the Pacific in the fall of 1941, arriving in Manila on Thanksgiving
before the attack on Pearl Harbor and Manila.  The card he mailed at 
Hawaii enroute did not indicate his destiny.  That was our last
correspondence from him as a free man except a telegram he tried to 
send immediately after the attack.  The message was garbled and I could
only make out that it was from Manila.

Since the Japanese had us completely cut off from the Philippines, the
first word we had about Edmond was six months after the fall of Bataan
and Corregidor.  A message from the government told us he was serving 
in Bataan at the time it fell and was missing in action.  But we did 
not give up hope.  Six moths later we received a form card from him
indicating he was imprisoned at Camp Cabanatuan No. 1 in the 
Philippines and falsely checking that his health was excellent; he was
treated well, etc.  My parents received four of this type card with 
identical information during the two years he was in that camp.

When Mac Arthur returned to the Philippines and his forces began to 
approach the area of the prisoners' camp, we eagerly listened and 
waited until the day they finally raided the camp liberating many
Americans.  As the lists of names came out daily, we were sure 
Edmond's name would be included.  But the final list without his name
was devastating for us.  We did not know that a year earlier he had 
been put in the hold of a ship for a six week's voyage to the island
of Kyushu where he was put to labor in the Yawata steel mill.  We 
never heard from him during that horribly long year and a half.

The Yawata steel mill located in the city of Fukioko was the original
target of the second atom bomb.  But cloud cover made the sighting of
the mark impossible for the American bomber.  After repeated attemps
of futile searching, the flight crew providentially turned back and 
dropped the bomb on Nagasaki, which is not far from Fukioko but held
no American prisoners.

When the long awaited V-J day arrived, we began hungrily listening
for some word from Edmond.  But six anxious weeks lapsed before a
letter from him was received by my parents.  He had sent a telegram
immediately after his release, but it never reached them.

When the call got through to me in New York about 8:00 p.m. one 
evening, I doubled up with shock.  My roommate, Marie Ward Stocking,
who was a stewardess and RN, helped me to cope with the shock.

My work required that I get up and go out before Marie, but as soon as
I was out of bed, she roused enough to turn on the radio every morning,
however, the morning after we heard from Ed, she did not turn on the 
radio, and never did again.  All that time I thought she was turning it
on for herself.

As soon as I learned Edmond's schedule, I made plans to meet him in San
Antonio, where he would be arriving via train from San Francisco.  
Immediately after checking into the hotel at San Antonio, I called 
Brooke Hospital to ask if he had arrived.  The kind receptionist 
informed me that he arrived that morning but was out on leave for the
evening.  I felt sick as I looked down on the street to see masses of
men in uniform - to think I was so close and could not find him.  My
impatience sent me out on the street to look for Ed.  Warnings that 
the men had changed drastically, made me follow and stare at every man
in a seargeant's uniform.  Of course, my search was hopeless.  I 
returned to my hotel room and called the hospital to leave a message
for him.  He called early the next morning.

As my taxi pulled up to the hospital, a handsome Spanish=American 
soldier in pajamas greeted me and offered to take me to the reception
room.  He led me through ward after ward, lamenting that they would 
not let him go home.  Soon I realized why he could not go home.  I 
asked directions and found Ed waiting in the reception hall.  How 
could anyone describe such a moment?  I shall not try.

As soon as he was given permission for leave to go home, I made 
airline reservations to take up to San Angelo where all the family 
plus relatives and friends would be waiting.  Although my job required
extensive air travel of which I was not afraid, I was anxious about 
this short flight.  The weather was perfect with no visible reasons
for fear - but running through my being was, "What if after all this
waiting, I get him on an airplane and . . ."

There was little conversation as we shared the flawless flight.  It is
impossible for us to know the fear that grips men's souls when they 
are huried back into a life they have forgotton.

Those few days were so emotionally packed, we often had to fight hard
to choke back the tears.  We did not know why tears!  Just tears!

The first day the house was filled with relatives and friends - some
driving long distances to share our rejoicing.  Before we gave thanks
for the mean, Mother read from the 77th Psalm, "I cried unto God with
my voice . . . and he gave ear to me.  In the day of my trouble, I 
sought the Lord . . ."  She lived with her Bible those years (in fact,
all of her years) and God did hear her cry.

On my flight home, as I reflected on the past few days, I thought it
would be wonderful if every person in the world could experience the
ecstasy we had shared - then I considered that to know such ecstasy, 
one would first to have to live the agony.  Also our heart bled for
the families whose loved ones did not come home.

Little by little, Edmond divulged some of the strocities they endured.
Although he never dwelt on the subject, he was able to discuss it 
without great trauma.  Also, the greatest miracle was his lack of
bitterness toward his cptors.  He said if we ever became like them,
we would have lost all they wer fighting for.  His attitude and the
fact he could pray for the Japanese guards outside his door can be
attributed to his faith in a loving God.  Not many months went by 
before he felt as if it were all a bad dream that never really 
happened.

I will try to relate some of the details of his imprisonment as told
by him, in which there were at least four times he barely survived.

The first was on the Death March from Manila to the prison camp.  The
march lasted several days, and any who fell by the way were boyoneted
and dragged off the road.  Edmond's first attack of malaria struck
during the first day of the march.  At one point, they were permitted 
a short rest.  He told his buddies, "When it is time to go, you will
have to go without me.  I cannot go any farther."  His buddies 
refusing his plea, one on each side, lifted him to his feet and carried
him on.  As they trudged down the highway, they spotted three packets
of brown sugar wrapped in banana leaves that had been thrown to them
by Filipino women.  The sugar provided enough energy to keep them 
going.

The Filipino women were so compassionate and helpful.  In spite of 
abuse and beatings by the Japanese, they continued to throw food to the 
Americans.

Another desperate time in his interment was in the camp at Cabanatuan
when he was so weak from the malaria, his fellow prisoners agreed that
he would not last through the night.  Although he could not respond,
he heard their diagnosis, and with his heart cried out to God, "Please
let me some time, some how just get home."  The next morning, their
finding him still alive, sent the men scurring throughout the camp in
search of quinine to help him.

While in Bataan, the prisoners were used for farm labor.  On one
occasion, Edmond and a fellow prisoner were weeding vegetables and
engaged in muted conversation.  A Japanese guard walking near, because
of his paranoia, believed that Edmond was cursing him.  Upon taking 
him aside, he began repeated assaults of violent screams and knocking
Edmond down with the butt of his rifle.  Each time Edmond got bombarded
with the same explosive question.  In his attempt to penetrate the 
language barrier, Edmond surmised he was saying, "Do you want me to 
kill you?", to which he responded negatively.  Until, in complete 
exhaustion, Edmond did not get up and relented to his death threat.  
This enraged the guard even more.  As he cocked his rifle to shoot, he
was halted by a piercing command from his approaching supervisor, the
farm manager.  After the manager dealt a scorching reprimand to the
guard (in Japanese) he slapped both men and sent them to their 
respective tasks.  The Americans called the manager Donald Duck because
of his incessant "quacking."

Edmond says the prime reason for the excessive cruelty was a sense of
inferiority because of their diminutive size.  Since they were no 
physical match for the American men they would force the prisoners to 
fight each other.  The men would accommodate with moans and grimaces 
of "fake" pain, as our present day wrestling "shows."  These charades
sent the Japanese into fits of ecstatic screeches.

When the first atom bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, the American boys
were not informed about the feats, but they knew some catastrophe had 
occurred because the guards did not press them in their work - just
huddled around with ashen faces of fear.  A few days later, when the
second bomb was dropped, they were not even taken to the steel mill, 
and all forms of regimentation ceased.  Still unaware of the bombs and
our victory, the men wandered daily from the camp but returned at 
night.  After two weeks of this staggering bewilderment, a squadron of
hedge-hoing P-38s spotted the camp, which promptly brought low flying
B29s dropping food and notes that read, "Stay there.  Don't leave.  We
are coming for you."  On top of being overwhelmed at the assurance of 
their liberation, they were bursting with pride at the awesome site of
the B29.  The only bomber they knew was the B17.

In due time, the liberation party arrived via train September 13, 1945,
to rescue the tired emaciated soldiers.  Big strong military men and 
officers burst into tears at sight of their "comrades."  The train 
route took them through devastated Nagasaki to a port where they were 
transported on a British aircraft carrier to Okinawa.  From Okinawa,
they were flown to the hospital in Manila where they were treated and
nourished until they were able to go home.

In departing Manila, they boarded a ship bound for San Francisco.  As
they glided into the harbor there, the ship was met by small boats 
carrying pretty, gleeful, waving girls, multicolored flowers and wafts 
of joyful music.  The men stood on deck looking down at the boats with
motionless stares.  The sincere eager efforts of the welcoming armada
were innocent.  How could they know that the anxiety pulsing in the 
depths of every man could not respond to superficial gaiety?

On their first night in San Francisco, because of having slept for 
years on bamboo mats, the men could not tolerate the soft hygenic beds.
At the break of dawn, the attendant was uttterly baffled to find all 
of the men sleeping on the Floor.  From San Francisco, Edmond was 
transported via train to Brooke Hospital in San Antonio.

During those years of incarceration, Edmond had all the diseases 
common to the prisoners:  beri-beri, malaria, yellow jaundice, and 
amoebic dysentery.  At one time, he weighed 89 lbs.  His normal weight
is around 165 lbs.  He recovered from every disease even though the
doctors warned that the amoebic dysentery might be a problem all of his
life.

After Edmond was rescued from the Japanese imprisonment at the end of 
the war, he returned to Texas and resumed his education.  His farm
experiences directed his interest to agriculture, which became his 
major in school.  For many years, he has served the cotton farmers as
an executive in the Southwestern Cotton Growers Association.

Shortly after his release from the military service, he married Jane 
Strode, a skillful young girl from far West Texas, and in time became
the father of three boys:  David Ed, Charles Stephen, and Phillip 
Claud.

There is much I have omitted, and I am sure there is much, much more 
Edmond never told.

Edmond is the epitome of a kind, loving husband, father, son, and 
brother.  He was born in 1919 and died January of 1989.  He is buried 
in Lubbock, Texas.

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