Conquered in Corregidor, Unconquered as Hero

By Jon Meade

A biography of my uncle’s combat and capture in the Philippines, and POW survival there and in Japan, WWII. Includes my own visits, observations and investigations in the Philippines in 2016.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LitFire Publishing
• Release date: Jun 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781641515245

Jon Meade

Jon is retired and lives in Tucson, Arizona. He has a B.A. degree in journalism, and is a former U.S. Marine and Vietnam War Veteran. This is his second book, with the first being published in 2016, "Confessions of a Surviving Alien" -- A Memoir.

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Conquered in Corregidor, Unconquered as Hero

Copyright © 2018 by Jon Meade

ISBN: 978-1-64151-524-5

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein, the author and publisher assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for damages that may result from the use of information contained within.

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Conquered in Corregidor, Unconquered as Hero

A biography of My Uncle’s combat & capture in the Philippines & POW survival there and in Japan, WWII. Plus my own observations, investigations & visits to the Philippines in 2016.

JON MEADE

No copyright is claimed in any of the lifted quotes, texts, photos, and materials that are not owned by the author of this book. The entirety of these aforementioned materials—as utilized by the author—is permissible under the Fair Use Principles in US copyright laws. The author further asserts that all materials that were used with direct or implied, or both, consent, under prevailing circumstances—i.e., permission—of such, and applied under standard press and journalistic protocols.

Moreover, this book is not associated with or directly endorsed by any person, museum, organization, or any company indicated in the book along with any other companies that may have been mentioned in the book for the purpose of proper citation of materials.

Lastly, the author assumes full responsibility for the content of this book.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my uncle, Richard W. Bartz, a hero on Corregidor—a small island just off Bataan—and subsequent concentration camp prisoner of war (POW), both outside Manila, Philippines and Japan. Moreover, it is dedicated to all Corregidor defenders, both then expired and those who survived. Additionally, those relative few who were sent to Japan as POW’s. Also, to all their family members, who suffered such profound loss and grief. But, how does one (really) survive such a horrific ordeal?? In some cases death may have been a better option. This very book will help shed some light on all factors herein related.

Dedicated to all World War II military heroes and participants, not to mention the female factory and manufacturing contingencies back in the States, and the overall war efforts that contributed to America’s eventual victory in that long, hard fought campaign to keep America and the western world free. Also, a special salute to my other uncle, Lester Meade, a quiet hero who landed at Anzio beach in Italy, fought and was wounded in that often overlooked bloodshed campaign.

WWII took a terrible toll on our nation, yet the sacrificing the country made paid off for added strength, resolve and knowledge that yes, the United States of America is worth fighting for, and always will be. In God We Trust, is not just a slogan of faith in God and country, but a reality that Americans suffered and died for, not only for our own shores, but for the tides that touch all nations and the civilized world. Perhaps the greatest generation best exemplified this sacrifice. It has been said, paraphrasing: It is by those who have suffered that the world is most advanced.

In a very special dedication—one that Uncle Dick would have appreciated—I would like to also dedicate this book to the brave and sacrificing souls of the Philippines, both military (with one revealing and glaring exception), and civilians, who not only stood bravely beside and behind the Americans, but fought a valiant battle in defense of their own nation.

If I can capture even a respectable semblance of that experience, and hopefully add to it, this book, and their fight, help and experience from the past, will be worth it.

Additionally, and finally, this book is dedicated to the United States and her allies, and the Philippines, where they did their best to overcome the enemy and bring peace to their islands and restore honor to their land.

God shined upon America, its allies and the Philippines in WWII. The reflections in the waters of time, will be forever remembered.

A special thanks to all the Filipino helpmates along my journeys, upon my two visits, including but not exclusive to: Acquaintances, fast friends, people-in-passing, kids, adults, guides, security and war Veterans. You all know who you are, and I salute you one in all.

A particular, well deserved thank you to police officer, Mr. Ray Germino, who went the extra mile to insure I got my interviews with the Vets. He took his precious time, and vehicle to find what seemed to be human slivers in the haystack. With his help I survived the task!

Author’s Notes

They say everyone has a book in them, and Dick wasn’t any different. Unfortunately, his gallant effort of March To Nowhere went to the grave with him. Fortunately for me, he left all his manuscripts, paperwork, documents and other artifacts behind, which our family eventually recovered. For this I am very grateful and appreciative. It is with this deep admiration that I write this book in tribute and honor to him.

As my research into his papers were uncovered, not only did I have his original manuscripts but many other writings covering not only the war, but his entire life. Upon closer inspection I come to realize that while March may have been the start of a stand alone book, it was more like a short story, possibly the framework of more to come. And more did come in the forms of other short stories that further elaborated on his March. I was able to conclude that the bulk of all his writings were done from the early-1950s to the mid-60s. His writings included more than just the war and its aftermath, but also his sad upbringing and position with the Veterans Administration (VA), post WWII. All of this impacts mightily to his remarkable story and underscores his stature as a very unique individual, warrior and hero.

Therefore, as he was obviously a gifted writer, I decided to incorporate March in its entirety, unabridged and just as he wrote it upfront in the book. Further, I will include other short stories, excerpts, quotes and partial texts from all of his writings, documents and memories. So, in a sense, this will be like Dick’s own autobiographical memoir within my biography of him. This certainly helps to authenticate his story from first person narratives.

I would like to add here that this is one person’s account of his experiences in WWII, the Philippines, plus being POW in Japan. It covers much detail and as the author of this book I went to great lengths to ensure accuracy by cross referencing all of his material. This was done by comparing all of his recollections and facts against any supportive and official paperwork.

Moreover, because this is a story of one individual’s personal documentation in the war, its scope and concentration is limited in presentation to Corregidor, Bataan and Manila, not to mention Japan. There are many great books out there that cover all aspects of WWII, including accounts of the Bataan Death March, and lesser the POWs in Japan. All are noteworthy and should be considered by all those readers and historians who wish to be fully informed.

This book is broken down into two parts. The first and most important, is the biography of my uncle Dick. It is the factual and memoir-related first-hand account of his life, with emphasis on the war and its aftermath. It is the overwhelmingly serious story of a complex and complicated life of a man and a Veteran. More than anything, it is the short study of the human condition, war, survival, and the impact on mankind. In a deeply philosophical way I would like the reader to try and enter the stream of consciousness of Dick’s mind so to better understand him and all Veterans, and the patriotic subjugation between them, their leadership, government and reality. Additionally, of course, the enemy.

The subsequent and second part is comprised of my two trips to the Philippines in 2016. Firstly, I wanted to conduct my own research on Corregidor—and since I was so close across Manila Bay and the Bataan Peninsula—also the Bataan Death March. I actually wanted to give myself a minuscule taste of the March’s path, and some of the components of the historical happening that took so many lives and profoundly changed so many others. I also wanted to attempt to put my little finger on the faintest possible pulse of that horrific aspect of WWII.

In my second leg of the two trips, I was finally able to search and secure some interviews with Filipino Veterans of the war, as well as one incredible account by an almost mythical little Filipina (female reference to Filipino), who witnessed much of the March and the terrible deeds bestowed upon her young soul. Because part two is my personal account it is not quite so serious in content and is more often times than not, selectively light-hearted.

Additionally, any reference to Vets or Veterans—or service designations, such as Marine—is honored and always capitalized.

Moreover, first and foremost I am an investigative journalist, having obtained my B.A degree in newspaper journalism, reporting and editing. Therefore, my mission is always the same, which is objectively finding and reporting the truth, wherever that may lead me. However, feature writing as it is called, also allows me the liberty and freedom to provide my views and opinions in a highly subjective, personalized manner and delivery, but never at the expense of the facts and truth.

Freedom of the press is one of those cherished liberties we enjoy as Americans, and one that Veterans from all wars have fought and paid a dear price for.

Preface

Have you ever had a hero or heroine in your life, real or imaginary?

When I was growing up and into my school years, my hero was my uncle Dick. He was very real and when he shared—usually by my coaxing—parts of his war stories, I was hooked, enraptured, fascinated, inspired and in absolute awe. With all the war movies out there, capturing the real and contrived amidst historical settings, he was the authentic hero in my mind’s eye. Some stories seemed unbelievable but always incredible, especially for this impressionable kid. He seemed truly bigger-than-life, and to a lesser extent, so did his stories.

As many years passed, I come to find out his stories were not only true—factual—but greatly understated, painting his character in shades of humility mixed with incredible valor. Such is the common modus operandi (mo) of most all (true) heroes.

Uncle Dick, through marriage to my aunt, was on the front lines of the tiny island of Corregidor and later in the defense of Bataan during the siege of the Japanese. And finally back to Corregidor again where the Japanese landed with the overall mission of not only overtaking the thin ranks of American and Filipino defenders, but to dominate that small but vitally important piece of pacific real estate. It was their first major step to control the Philippines that would play such a pivotal role and dictate the ensuing campaign. The Bataan Death March and subsequent imprisonment of Americans and Filipinos, was the most overt and obvious signal to the world that the Japanese were in charge, and they had no plans to relinquish this new found power any time soon. But there was another story of POWs taken to Japan, land of their captors. Japan along with Bataan, would be the primary unspeakable holders of horrors for captured combatants.

The dignified name of Richard W. Bartz, like many of his comrades, will be forever etched in history. It was my good fortune to know him, and be positively influenced by him in my young life and beyond.

First and foremost, this is a biography of an American hero, not just mine, but surely to be yours, as well. The more and more I delved into all of Dick’s extensive written stories, official government documents and all related testimonies and paperwork upon my aunt’s death, the more I realized his story was much more far-reaching and intense than I had ever imagined. The biggest surprise was finding out about the medals for valor he won. No one had a clue as he never disclosed that to anyone. Humility, for the most part, was nearly a character flaw, as many like him.

Sure, I had a skeleton of knowledge about Dick, especially as a kid interested in combat and war, but the true extent of that knowledge turned out to be relatively minor in the scheme of things, particularly concerning the complete profile and life of my uncle. Unfortunately and fortunately, he was groomed for survival from a very young age, as you will see as the story completely unfolds.

A hero, real or imaginary? You be the judge.

Through his extensive personal writings, it is as if he is alive today, telling his own story.

His story, like many others from the pacific theater and the Philippines, needs to be told.

As it has been so aptly stated, paraphrasing: Unless positive changes are made, negative history is bound to repeat itself.

Included in Dick’s biography, is a mysterious, short, hand-written note, which will be shared at the conclusion of his story, including its reproduction in the photo section.

Part I

The biography of Richard W. Bartz; covering his life, Bataan, Corregidor, Manila and Japan during World War II.

Includes his days as a Prisoner of War (POW).

The Final Breath

I was studying for college midterms, when the phone rang. It was my mother. Like a strong gust of wind, my mother’s words took my breath away.

Jon, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.

What mom, what?

Your uncle Dick is dead. They found him in a cabin he had rented.

There was a moment of silence.

I’m sorry Jon...

"Wow, I can’t hardly believe it; he’s gone. He finally did it, huh?

Yes, I’m afraid so. He went on one of his binges and had his last drink and final breath.

More silence.

As gracious as my mother was trying to be, I could tell it was hard for her. She wasn’t crying but the words came slowly, as she knew how much Dick meant to me.

He was returning back to bed after using the bathroom, stumbled, tried to get into bed but couldn’t and flipped over on his back, where he suffocated on his own regurgitation. He’s at the coroner now.

How’s Marilyn taking it?

It’s a tough time, sad. But she’s been conditioned for this day. She knew it was coming.

So, when’s the funeral? Hope it’s not right away cause I’m taking midterms tomorrow.

No, I think we have a little time yet, but you must come home right after that.

Oh, yes, I will, I will, I said, feeling a little guilty about putting mid-terms first.

I’ll leave San Francisco tomorrow night to Minnesota.

Jon, Marilyn wanted me to ask you if you would like to accompany her during the inspection of the cabin? It’ll be just you and her?

Of course, mom, tell her definitely yes.

Marilyn, my mother’s older sister, picked me up at home and drove me to the cabin. They were little one room cabins. Dick of course was gone and the room was cleaned for the most part. But there still lingered the smells of vomit and death. Very little was said between us, as Marilyn fought back the tears as we inspected the cabin and looked for anything that may have been left after the clean-up. We also tracked his final movements and actions, from bed to bathroom and back. It was just hard to conceive him dying that way.

He was always such a thoughtful drunk, Marilyn said factually without much emotion.

He would always tell me ahead of time that he had to go be alone, and I knew, I knew. He would rent a cheap hotel or motel room, bring full bottles of whiskey with him, usually not eat and come back home quietly after 3-4 days. Marilyn said he probably repeated that same plan every three to six months, sometimes going at stretches up to nine months to a year.

I knew it was just a matter of time. Poor Dick. He was so sweet and considerate.

The only thing I recall saying was about my understanding and sympathy of Dick’s life and his demise from drinking. Despite the sadness of it all, I forgave him and it seemed Marilyn hesitantly did, too, although guarded.

We closed the door and left, memories intact.

After the customary greetings and visiting with the family, his final viewing was to be at the Miller Funeral Home in Columbia Heights, just five miles from Marilyn and Dick’s house.

Family attended but few others. It just didn’t seem right somehow? How could a man who was instrumental in the defense of Corregidor and was decorated as a hero thereafter, not have people lined in the streets to pay their respects? Idealistic for sure, but I had to struggle with the thoughts. The whole world should stop and pay their respects I thought, idealism should prevail.

Dick’s open casket was centered in the front of the room, with onlookers in chairs. We listened to a brief service and got up to view his remains. I purposely held back as I wanted to be last. I can’t say I remember anyone’s tears—including my own—but I’m sure they were there...somewhere. The family and several quests had left the building, with some lingering at the doorway. I approached the casket. I immediately noticed how much his body had blown up and was literally filling the casket. He looked bigger-than-life, literally and figuratively.

I just stared at him. Finally, I touched his cheek, then his forehead. I said a short, personal prayer. He was gone but never to be forgotten. Halfway out, the funeral director gave his thanks and goodbye. I asked about how bloated Dick looked?

He agreed and said because of his final condition from alcohol and a delay to get to the funeral parlor, he became so big they were worried they wouldn’t even get him into the casket.

He said it with a little smirk, I felt. Maybe I was being way to thin-skinned but I felt a slight twinge go from my heart to my arm and down to my fist.

I left, but not before stopping at the Memorial Book pedestal again. I noticed the thick book with room for photos and mementos, being literally blank, except for several pages of visitor sign-ins. Even the In Memory Of page was missing his own name, and the few supporting personal statistics; blank. Knowing how close and in love Dick and Marilyn always were, I found this striking and puzzling. Especially considering the fact that Marilyn was normally an information monger and kept and cataloged practically everything. However, loss can affect people differently. Marilyn could have also resented that her great love cut his own life short.

Dick was barely 52 years of age.

Dick’s remains were buried at Fort Snelling in Saint Paul at the Veteran’s National Cemetery. After the traditional funeral processions from Minneapolis, we gathered around his grave site. Dick was Catholic so a Priest gave last respects. Marilyn would have a reserved plot right next to him as his wife.

There was no military presence, no bugles, no shots into the air, no jets overhead. There was just the overwhelming quiet sharing the day with thousands and thousands of other white grave stones with a cross embedded within. But Dick had made it home.

Before we left the cemetery, we stopped by another Veteran’s grave-site, that of Dana A. Pitts, USMC (recalled in my first book, Confessions of a Surviving Alien). Back in 1968 as an active duty Marine, I escorted Dana’s remains back home. His family was close to my grandmother so it was particularly emotional. He was blown apart in Vietnam, with only one body part inside the (closed) casket. We went to his plot, paid our respects and left. I thought to myself as I took my last lingering glance, what price sacrifice?

Dick and Dana, sharing the same cemetery of honor. One drank himself basically to death because of combat memories, one was killed directly in combat.

As our car pulled away, I gazed back over towards Dick’s fresh burial, sand remnants still visible. I was alone with my thoughts...What that man went through? But I didn’t know the half of it. Not even a quarter.

Until now.

The measure of a man is not so much his material accomplishment, but the inner reflection of his heart, soul and spirit. --JM

Author Commentary

I would like to introduce in Dick’s own words, the one story that I was aware of growing up, which he pulled segments out of and skimmed over occasionally with me. From my best determination of all his various short stories pertaining to his life and the war, particularly Bataan, Corregidor and being a POW, it seems this was the first short story he wrote, followed by numerous others. He may well have planned to put the series into a book, but obviously never did.

None of it saw the light of day except for the glowing compliments he received from some apparent writing class professor. I figured the date of this powerful and revealing story was done in early-to-mid 1950s. So, this account of Corregidor is both the beginning and end of his duties and experiences of direct fighting and combat, yet just the beginning of being captive as a POW. All other aspects of Dick’s story in their particular time-lines will be in support of this premise.

The ultimate surrender of Corregidor was his and the Philippines final stand, therefore it was uppermost and most fresh in his mind, hence his initial account. I will present it as I found it, the lead story, title—March To Nowhere—and all others. March was the only story I was aware of, except for some brief, soon-to-be forgotten references to his writing over the years.

This original manuscript, along with all his other short stories, which were found with all the rest of Dick’s writings, government and military documents, paperwork and artifacts—plus a very mysterious small note—were uncovered following aunt Marilyn’s death. It is presented in its entirety, content primarily unedited, unabridged.

The first page of one of the short stories is on the cover, slightly blown up, inside the same typewriter he