|
|
CAIN |
| Let’s Get Acquainted—Lester Eugene “Dutch” and Melba Ruth Ward Dupree | |
 Melba and Dutch met after the end of World War II, introduced
by mutual friends in October 1945. They were married May 4, 1946, and have
three children: Rebecca Dupree Hirasaki, Nathan Dupree and Margaret Ruth
Dupree Fowler. Melba worked for “Ma” Bell in various capacities until she
retired to care for Dutch who needed home health care due to a stroke.
Dutch was a career Army officer until his career was cut short; you will
read more about this later in the article.
Melba’s sister Margaret Lee Ward wrote: Melba was born at Pine
Island Bayou near Oil City, Louisiana on May 26, 1921. She was the second
child of Elmer Fieldon Ward and Rosie May Rebecca Cain. Melba (I call her
Sister) is two years older than me and I have always looked up to her.
When we were growing up Mom depended on her more than the rest of us. Of
course, that meant a few more privileges, too. Sometimes I felt that Mom
was partial to her (confession time). As we grew older, things changed,
though.
N athan Dupree wrote: Daddy’s parents were Nellie and R. E. Dupree. He was born April 18, 1916 in Nacogdoches County, Texas. Dutch was the fourth child in a family of nine children. His father farmed in East Texas. Normally, all of the boys would be required to go out into the fields to work. But since Dutch was not as old as some of his brothers, his mother kept him at the house to help her attend to the younger children. It was there that he learned to be an excellent cook. He told about how when his mother needed to go to town (which could be an all day affair), he would slip out to the chicken house before she was out of sight and catch a chicken, kill and pluck it. He would then cook and enjoy a delicious chicken dinner before his mother returned home. I am uncertain if his mother went out to count the hens on her return. If he got caught, he never told me.M argaret continued: Sister had always longed to learn sewing, so after her first home economics class at school she began to sew. I remember being so excited when she would make clothes for me. Money was scarce at that time for us because of the depression, but when she was able to get material, she would make a dress for one of us. She continued her sewing for years. Once I wanted to take a vacation with some of my friends, but I couldn’t afford to buy dresses for the trip. She had several pieces of material on hand and made me some dresses. I’ll always appreciate what she did for me.She and I both worked for the telephone company and always took our vacations together and had some good times – usually going to San Antonio to see Jess and Beek (Bessie Adeline Cain Longstreath). When Sister began dating Dutch she brought him home to meet the family. I can still remember how handsome he looked in his uniform and he seemed so nice. I didn’t realize until later how much he had been through while in the service and as a prisoner-of-war (POW). He never seemed to be bitter about everything that happened to him overseas. He always tried to find something funny to tell. I’ve always been thankful that he became part of our family. He was so kind and helpful to us anytime we had a need. In the last few years of his life it was my privilege to help take care of him. He always accepted whatever happened to him and never complained. When I’ve needed help or advice about something, they were always there for me. In 1980 Sister & Dutch invited Mom and I to move in with them and I’m still here. I feel so blessed to have a sister like her and to have had a brother-in-law like him. N athan continued: Melba’s early years were spent in north Louisiana where her Dad worked in the oil field. She graduated in 1938 from Cotton Valley High School. Her name was written in the sidewalk of the school. At that time, the 11th grade was the senior year in school. It always seemed unfair that I had to go an extra year to finish high school. I suppose that I should leave to her siblings to tell about their experiences growing up in the oil field, since I was not there. She moved from Cotton Valley in 1941 to Beaumont, Texas where she went to work at the telephone company.
Mother and Daddy enjoyed a beautiful marriage. They were faithful to their family, as well as to serving their God. From my earliest memory, Mother always worked at the telephone company. She retired in 1982 with 40 years of service. But even with her work schedule, she was never too tired to take care of her children. I remember as a child, standing behind her sewing machine as she sewed dresses for my sisters and herself. Many nights she was up late sewing. Daddy received a disability retirement from the service after World War II. Due to his disabilities, he was not always employable, so he provided babysitting services for us kids when we were quite young, always without complaint. Shortly after my dad left military service, he bought a “Mom and Pop” store with a little severance pay that he had received. As I recall the story (these things happened before I can remember), soon after buying the store, a big supermarket was built just down the street causing him to lose most of his customers. Before this time, there had not been many large grocery stores; every neighborhood had their own little store. Well, Daddy hung with it for the three-year lease and though he did not make anything, he was able to get his investment back. For most of my memory, my dad had gainful employment as a security guard at a chemical plant. Mother and Daddy were like a team. Because of his early training as a cook by his mother and the time he spent taking care of his own children, he became the main cook in our home. Our childhood friends were always amazed when they saw our dad in the kitchen cooking up the meal. When Mother would come in from work, he would already have supper cooking. She would not even take off her heels, but got right in the kitchen beside him to be his helper. But in 1979, that all changed - Daddy suffered a massive stroke due to an automobile accident. Mother immediately took up the responsibility as the chief cook and has become renowned for the outstanding meals that she cooks. Even before that time, for many years folks enjoyed her baking. She is especially noted for her pecan pies; her recipe came from Aunt Jess. After my dad’s illness, Mother took an early retirement so that she could become Daddy’s fulltime nurse. For the 22 years that she cared for him, he received the most devoted and diligent care that was humanly possible. There was not one day that he did not know that he was loved and was someone very special. Because of my dad’s service and personal sacrifice in World War II, he
received many decorations. However, it was not until more recently that he
became eligible to receive the Purple Heart. This medal, in years gone by
was reserved only for those injured in combat. My dad received his injuries
during the three and one half years he was a Japanese POW. The law was
changed to also include those so injured. Since the Army does not
automatically send the medals to those who have earned them, my mother went
to bat for my dad. It took her many hours on the phone and letters written
to folks in high places, but in time he received that well-deserved medal.
It was pinned on him in a special ceremony by an Army general. She fought
for him to the end, staying in the hospital night and day, sleeping on a
small hospital couch. She was beside him on the night that he went to be
with his Lord. (He passed from this life in early hours of Sunday morning,
August 19, 2001). Through the years, I have been honored to say a few words at the memorial services for loved ones. My mother has been a vital resource in preparing for these occasions. She has a very good memory of past events and usually gave me more details than I could use. She could have written this little piece much better than me, but it is my privilege to express these few sentiments about a grand lady and her beloved husband. J ames Arthur Ward (often referred to as Jamis Oddie or Jamius Oddie) wrote: I remember one time when we went from Beaumont, TX to Cotton Valley, LA to see Aunt Jess and her family. While we were there, we got snowed in. After that, Dutch would hardly go to LA in the winter. When he did, if the weather even looked like it as going to get bad, Dutch was ready to head to Beaumont!Before I was of driving age, I worked for Dutch in his grocery store. I drove his car all over South Park delivering groceries. Dutch was such a tease. After Mom (May Ward) was up in years, she stayed with Dutch while Sister and Babe worked. Mom would ask, “Where is Babe?” Dutch would answer, ”she has gone to Fort Worth.” Mom’s reply, “Fort Worth, why has she gone to Fort Worth?” Dutch would answer, “She has gone to Fort Worth to get a load of goats.” He would grin from ear to ear and put that hand over his mouth. This sure got mom’s goat every time!
M ichele (Ward) Sonnier (middle daughter of James and Carolyn Ward) wrote: My childhood memories of Uncle Dutch and Aunt Melba are Uncle Dutch’s fried chicken and Aunt Melba’s homemade goodies. I remember the family getting together for homemade ice cream. While the men took turns with the hand crank, the kids took turns sitting on top of the ice cream freezer. The family Easter egg dye at their house was always fun. I always had bragging rights during Easter – no one else got to help dye 15 dozen or more eggs!A special memory of Aunt Melba was when I found out I was pregnant and for the next 9 months, 3 or 4 days a week, she would call and say “Meshell” lets walk. I don’t know how many miles we walked on their driveway but from hot June to cold February we walked and talked. Thank you Aunt Melba! Over the past 38 years I have watched and learned a lot about your steadfast faith in God, unfailing love and devotion to your marriage and family. I have been blessed to be a part of this family. G arland Sonnier (Michele Ward Sonnier’s husband) wrote: Although I came along much later in Dutch and Melba’s lives I want everyone to know how special they both have been to our family and me.My most enduring memories of Dutch are of him walking, cane in hand, up and down his driveway. He would do this faithfully, everyday. Even though Dutch was not in the best health, and not always steady on his feet, he had a wonderful determination that was always an inspiration to me. Those that knew of Dutch’s background know very well what a determined man he could be. It would seem that nothing could get him down. Dutch also had a quick wit and a ready one-liner waiting for you that would leave you with a smile on your face. Dutch didn’t have to say much; it was what he said and how he said it that was endearing to me. Aunt Melba, although you are my aunt, through marriage, I am proud to call you my Aunt Melba. God gave you a true servant’s heart. Our family has been blessed through your never-ending acts of kindness. One of the best memories I will always have is of you and Aunt Margaret never forgetting our birthday and anniversary. You always have sent a card and called. There are very few people in this world today that are as thoughtful. This may not seem like much to some, but it is the small things that we never forget. This will always be special to our family. Each year I look forward to the family Christmas party. Of course the food is always wonderful! So much to eat and such delicious desserts. Melba has always made the best Italian Cream Cake (and pies). I never had anything like this when I grew up. I did not have the extended family that the Dupree and Ward family has. I know that this get together has always been close to Melba’s heart. It is a special time for all of us to be able to get together, without fail, the first Saturday in December of each year. I always am impressed with how far some will travel just to be there for the family “reunion.” The gag gift will always be a special memory. I am always amazed at where Clint Ward, Mark Ward, and Aunt Melba come up with some of the stuff they give each year. It always leaves us laughing and wondering what will show up or “reappear” the next year. God continues to bless our get together each year through new additions to our family. The tradition continues and Melba has played a large part in the success of this annual family event. It will be bittersweet this year without Dutch. Of course, Santa Dutch, will be one of my most treasured memories. A my Hirasaki wrote: Where do I begin to describe my memories of Granny and Honey? It seems an impossible task. One of the things I treasure most in this world is my relationship with my grandmother (Melba). My earliest memories are of riding in the back seat of her silver car and listening to the thunk-thunk of her turning signal and knowing that all was right with the world as long as I was with her. She has been my biggest cheerleader and encourager. In the darkest of times I knew that she loved me unconditionally.We had many fun times too - I always loved to watch her bake cakes and cookies. No one else in the world can ice a Red Velvet Cake the way she can! Each individual swirl is lovingly and painstakingly placed with the twirl of her knife. Everything I know about baking comes from her. As an adult she has always been a phone call away to help me with my latest cooking dilemma. The funny thing is that she used to tell me that Honey was the better cook! During my college years Granny’s sofa was always open for a tired college student to rest on during the day – what incredible naps I had on that sofa! Her kitchen was also never closed. You weren’t allowed to leave her house hungry. I think I preferred to “hang out” at my grandmother’s house to the college campus. It was wonderful to know that someone worried about each class and assignment that you were working on just as much as you were. I love my grandmother for so many reasons but most of because of her love
for me. She has been a remarkable example to me – being a wonderful wife,
mother, sister, daughter, grandmother, and friend. I am blessed to have her
in my life.
My wonderful Honey - I miss him so much already. I’ve never met a finer man than my grandfather. After knowing him, other men pale in comparison. My earliest memory of Honey is standing up in the seat of his brown pick-up. We used to ride all over town together with my little ponytail flapping in the wind! My most vivid memory when I was a child is of him standing in the living room doorway and filling it entirely – I just knew that we were in BIG trouble! His sense of humor was amazing to me. He could crack a joke until the very end. And his sneezes! Oh, they would rattle the windows! After Honey’s stroke things really slowed down for him but he always had a ready kiss and “I love you” no matter what. Our whole family revolved around his love. We felt it radiating from him into our hearts. He was the true center that brought us all together. The people we are today, is because of his love and example. His love for my brothers and me is another incredible symbol of his greatness. What man would be able to love children who looked like the enemy that imprisoned him for over two years? What man could love a Japanese son-in-law without hesitation? Honey’s example of forgiveness is one that will live on with me forever. I am going to miss him always but will be blessed to have had in my life for so long. He is my own personal guardian angel – watching out for me from above. This poem was also written by Amy—Amy was five years old when Dutch had his traffic accident and stroke. This poem represented her earliest memories of Dutch until 1994 when she both wrote and presented the poem to him. It was also read in 1996 at Melba and Dutch’s 50th wedding anniversary celebration: Honey Tall, strong, and strict. Brown truck, black hair. The accident I never saw. Hospital bed, silent face. Fear and tears. Walking again. Canes and walkers. Blue balls in strong hands. Hesitant words filled with love and frustration. Growing up with his love always with me. Words unspoken. Sporadic jokes to ease the tension. Ear twitches and "ichi," "ni," "san." My beloved POW grandfather. A heart full of love, forgiveness and strength beyond compare, Brisk walks up and down the driveway. White cane keeping time with the soldierly stride. Growing older. Honey and I. The love learned will continue to the next generation. A man of many names: Lester, Dutchman, Daddy, and Papaw but to me he will always be |
C
M
egan Harbison wrote: Thank You Papaw - for the “Where’s the Rooster” game that I loved so much as a child. For your funny remarks that would come from nowhere and send everyone rolling with laughter. For the extra ‘Christmas gift’ that we happily lined up and gave you a hug and kiss for every year. For being willing to risk your life for our great nation and the freedom I now enjoy. For that quiet, strong example of Jesus that you gave to everyone. For the effort you always made to speak or respond to me when it would have been easier not to. For the love you sent me through your eyes when the words would not come. For everything you were and stood for. I miss you Papaw.Thank you Granny - For the many after school cheese and cracker snacks. For the door that is always open, even if it is not convenient for you. For the way you make me feel that I’m important and special, despite my failures and shortcomings. For the many early mornings you’ve prayed for me while I was still snuggled in bed asleep. For giving all of us the example that it is possible to live for Jesus all your life. For the unwavering support you give my family and me. For the assurance I have that no matter what comes my way, I don’t have to stand alone. I love you Granny.
Thank you Papaw and Granny - For the best example we had of how a marriage and a family should be. For giving me the best ‘Deddy’ a girl ever had. For showing us, Papaw, how a man should love and respect his wife. For the shining example, Granny, of what “love, honor, and cherish till death do you part” truly means. I don’t know why God blessed me with what so many others don’t have. I cherished every moment I had with you Papaw, and I cherish every moment with you, Granny. Thank you.
L
inda Hilburn wrote: Janice and I visited some of the folks in Beaumont when I was maybe 8 years old. We rode the train from Shreveport there. I stayed at Melba and Dutch’s visiting Becky. Janice stayed at Aunt May and Uncle Elmer’s. There were other times my family visited there, but I remember Melba and Dutch and all of the family went out of their way to be sure that we enjoyed our visits. On one visit we ate out after Sunday School and a trip to the beach was a must! On another trip to Beaumont, I remember being the recipient of Dutch’s famous pancakes one Saturday morning. Dutch was a quiet, loving and caring person. Melba and Dutch reared their children to love and obey the Lord.Melba has been a role model for me. She seemed to always be “on top of everything,” knew where she was going, and on her way to reach the goal. Her dedication to the Lord has always been an inspiration to me. Her priorities have been, the Lord first, then her family, extended family, friends, acquaintances and those she did not even know. She reminds me of the lady in Proverbs 31. In her is an excellent spirit, like Daniel.
Over the years, I have learned just how much her husband and family have meant to her by the sacrifices she has made. Her dedication and devotion to taking care of Dutch, especially after he became wheelchair bound, then bed bound, is unparalled, and at the same time serving the Lord and her family without missing a step. She became everything that she needed to become, to take care of him. If she did not know how to deliver a particular type of care, she persisted until she found out how and then delivered that care well, never complaining, always thankful for what she could do.
Her record of giving of herself to the Lord, and to others is exemplary; and what about those thousands of prayers that she has prayed for all of her family and all that had a need. I tell you, she is a leader, a prayer warrior, a woman full of faith and full of good works. She strives for perfection in everything she does, is concerned about every little detail, gives the utmost of her ability and takes the rest to the Lord for His ability. Beneath her flesh is that heart of gold that always wants to please the Master, do the right thing at all times and to bring all she can to the Lord. I am so blessed to have had Dutch and to have Melba as a part of my family.
C
herise Ward Thomas wrote: Aunt Melba and Uncle Dutch have always been very special people. Their home has always been open to everyone, not just family. It seems like the more the merrier around their house. I can remember spending many days and nights at their house. My sister Michele and I were treated more like grandkids. I remember one night in particular. Uncle Dutch and I were playing Battleship. Because of his eyesight, he had a lamp on the table near his board to help him see. The only thing was that the reflection made his glasses act as a mirror for me. The first game went very fast. You can guess who won. I did tell him what had happened and we played fairly the rest of the evening. We have laughed many time over that night. One of my favorite memories both as a child and as a parent is the Saturday before Easter. Their church has had an Easter egg hunt for as long as I can remember. Aunt Melba has always taken on the task of providing a large amount of eggs. They family gathers at the Dupree house to dye all the eggs. The "kids" do the coloring of the 20 or more dozen eggs. Of course the older boys have always made a game of who can create the ugliest color. Many pictures and fun times have been had in the garage on this special day. There is lots of food and fellowship in the house. Every year at the family Christmas gathering, Aunt Melba has a small gift for all of the kids. Each child must give "Santa" love for him to give out the surprise. The Santa has always been Uncle Dutch. The fun would not be complete without the expectation of what Aunt Melba has gotten Clint and Mark Ward. The boys try to outdo Aunt Melba with the silliest or most disgusting prank. I think Aunt Melba has won more than her share. Another favorite time as a child has been listening to Uncle Dutch tell stories. I have spent many hours on his knee and at his side getting a history lesson about the war and life in the concentration camp. His openness to that part of his life was unbelievable. He would also tell stories about growing up. I can't imagine growing up without the influence of Aunt Melba and Uncle Dutch.“Dutch” Dupree—an American Hero
Melba Dupree wrote: When you looked at him you probably saw just an old man
lying there. And maybe you thought, “He’s not important. He’s old. He’s lived
his life. So just let him go.”
But when I looked at him, I saw an entirely different picture. I saw a dashing young soldier – so handsome in his officer’s uniform. I saw a happy expression on his face – so glad to be back in America after three and one-half years as a Japanese prisoner-of-war (POW). I saw him sitting in his car in front of the telephone company waiting for me to get off work. My heart skipped a beat when I saw he was there.
I saw this man bow his knee in repentance at an altar of prayer after promising God in a far away land “If you’ll bring me home and show me the truth, I’ll live for you.” I saw him being baptized in Jesus name, as the word of God commands in Acts 2:38. I saw him receive the Holy Ghost with the utterance of speaking in an unknown tongue – a gift from God. Thereafter, I saw him walk uprightly and circumspectly before the Lord – not without any fault or failures, because he was a man. But he knew who to turn to if he erred and God was just to forgive.
On down the road I saw a happy, devoted father who loved our three children. I saw him caring for them as I went off to work. When Becky, our first child, started to school, the teacher asked the children to share with the class what their father’s employment was. When it was her time to answer, she replied, “My Daddy is a housewife.” Then as the children grew, the telephone might ring in the middle of the night. After answering the phone I would hear “Where are you?” then a pause and “I’ll be right there.” Quickly he was out the door!
And then I saw a man who enjoyed making hot cakes for the entire family on Saturday mornings. I saw entertaining the kids by flipping them in the air. He served them with warm syrup and melted butter. I saw his family enjoying Dutch’s Fried Chicken, which he loved to cook. I saw the kids at church wanting to come home on Sundays with Becky, Nathan and Margaret Ruth so they could have some of Bro. Dupree’s roast, rice and gravy. This was his Sunday specialty which he prepared while I helped the children get dressed for church. One mother told me, “My kids would rather go home with the Dupree’s than go buy ice cream.”
I saw a handsome man walk his daughters down the aisle to give them away to be married. He was much more handsome than the man he was giving them to (sorry Henry and Charles!). Then I saw him sit happily as his son was being married.
A little farther down the road I aw a pleased grandfather caress and hold his grandchildren. They all loved him because they knew he loved them. Some of them call him “Honey.” The others call him “Papaw.” But whatever they called him he enjoyed it.
And some the other things I saw will be difficult to express. He was so caring, so kind, so even tempered – a gentle man. And if he thought I was the least bit upset about some problem, he would ask, “What can I do?” – even when confined to a wheelchair, and later to his bed. I would always answer, “You just be there, that will make everything alright.”
When I looked again, I saw a beautiful picture. I saw an honorable man – a man who was greatly loved by his family and friends – a man who even to the end of his life could still make little comments to amuse everyone in the room.
He was so wonderful. He was my hero here on earth, which the Lord gave to me – even though I could never deserve such a loving husband.
Donald Hilburn wrote: I salute your memory Dutch! To my knowledge, Dutch and I are the only two career military men in the family, never mind that his career was cut short by disabilities resultant to POW internment. I therefore felt a special bond with Dutch and feel very thankful for him and his generation for ensuring our freedom. I remember as a small boy being regaled with tales of the Philippines and Japan, and while I never in my wildest dreams thought I would one day be an Air Force officer, maybe he had a role in my eventual career and future. Dutch’s heroism stands out—he was just one soldier serving his country and indeed the world, but it seems appropriate to tell some of his story especially in light of recently losing him and with our military currently engaged in the war on terrorism.
Dutch joined the Army just prior to commencement of World War II and was sent to the Philippine Islands to help General MacArthur’s advisory group train the Philippine Army. However, not long after his arrival, Japan attacked Pearl Harbor and about seven hours later attacked almost every military installation on the Philippine Island, Luzon. While the attack on Pearl Harbor has received tremendous publicity over the years, the attack on Luzon marked the beginning of something far larger in scale and duration—and far more horrific. Pearl Harbor, for all of its terrible carnage, was over within hours. The defense of the Philippines, our first great battle of World War II, would last four agonizing months. After the initial aerial attack, General MacArthur quickly retreated from Manila to the peninsula of Bataan, which, with its roadless jungles and steep volcanic headlands jutting out into Manila Bay, was better suited than the capital for a protracted defensive war. American and Filipino troops fought valiantly as their food and ammunition ran out. When defeat became certain, MacArthur was evacuated to Australia to build a new army. His ill-equipped, malnourished, malarial troops held the peninsula as long as they could. On April 9, 1942, they capitulated to the Japanese 14th Army. It was the largest surrender in American history.
After the surrender, the Japanese force-marched them 65 miles north to a temporary enclosure called Camp O'Donnell. The prisoners were in no condition to walk, but the Japanese prodded them along anyway; if a man couldn't keep pace, he was shot, bayoneted, or beheaded. In the end, more than 600 Americans and as many as 10,000 Filipinos are believed to have died during the week-long plodding atrocity that came to be known as the Bataan Death March.
Yet the Death March was only the beginning of the long ordeal. In the prison camps, these men suffered enough for a hundred lifetimes. They endured three years of gratuitous and often surreal mistreatment which, as they've come to the end of their lives, they still can't fully understand. They buried legions of their comrades because their guards denied them even the most basic of medicines. They saw friends tortured and beheaded. Every day their dignity was stolen.
Many of the Bataan veterans have been unable to shake their belief that Washington abandoned them. To this day, many continue to feel a sense of bitterness. In prison camp, the men often called themselves "ghosts." Not only did these guys look like ghosts after three years of captivity, but they felt as though they'd been forgotten by the land of the living—and by their own country. One can easily make the case that, in terms of scope and duration, their ordeal exceeded anything suffered by our armed forces in any other conflict throughout our history.
The fall of Bataan was intimately linked to Pearl Harbor. The original war plan had called for MacArthur's troops to fall back to the Bataan Peninsula and hold out for a few weeks until the Navy could steam across the Pacific and supply them with reinforcements of food and munitions. But, of course, therein lay the problem: There was no Navy. The Pacific fleet had been virtually destroyed at Oahu, although it took a while for MacArthur to realize the full extent of the loss. Without warships to break the Japanese blockade, it was extremely difficult for sufficient shipments of supplies to reach the men of Bataan. Briefly, the War Department in Washington weighed more ambitious schemes to relieve the Americans before it was too late. But by Christmas of 1941, Washington had already come to regard Bataan as a lost cause. President Roosevelt had decided to concentrate American resources primarily in the European theater rather than attempt to fight an all-out war on two distant fronts. At odds with the emerging master strategy for winning the war, the remote outpost of Bataan lay doomed.
By late December, Roosevelt and War Secretary Henry Stimson had confided in Winston Churchill that they had regretfully written off the Philippines. In a particularly chilly phrase that later was to become famous, Stimson had remarked, "There are times when men have to die." Die they did—by the thousands. Given all the hideous trials they had to endure, it's remarkable that any of them survived at all. But survive Dutch did– he not only lived through the misery of a four-month siege, an infamous forced march, and three years in squalid prison camps, he also somehow survived the tricky re-immersion into American society (so many of their comrades had died during those first few years—of depression, alcoholism, and various sordid combinations of residual illnesses). And he managed the unthinkable: living to a ripe old age with children, grandchildren and indeed a great grandchild. He accepted his terrible lot with enormous stores of grace; he possessed a set of strengths that saw him through his ordeal—love of family, faith in God, a prodigious sense of humor. True, he had scars of his internment—those feet that Nathan wrote about, but he did not seem to have prejudice like many of his comrades in arm. Many veterans of Bataan refused to buy Japanese cars, refused to throw rice at their own daughters' weddings. But Dutch and most of them learned not to hate the Japanese people as Amy Hirasaki talked about in her tribute to “Honey.” There are, we must all know by now, no "good wars," and this one, for these men, was especially bad. Dutch was a truly remarkable hero as were so many others we are thankful for.
The following document was written by Dutch between 4 May 1946 and 27 Jan 1947 during his stay in a hospital; it is a certification of POW status.
Certification
I hereby certify that I was a POW of the Japanese government from April 9, 1942 until I was liberated September 10, 1945.
Upon my arrival at Camp O'Donnell on April 22, 1942, I suffered from diarrhea and fever with no treatment available. Then when arriving at Cabanatuan on June 2, 1942 I suffered from Beri-Beri, yellow jaundice and malnutrition. Received no medical treatment there. Left on November 7 and was loaded on a Japanese troop transport. I was forced to stay in the hole of the ship with half a canteen of hot water a day and very little to eat. I suffered from heat and exhaustion and continued to suffer with Beri-Beri. Then arriving in Japan the later part of November, I was moved to Camp Yodagawa. This was in the beginning of cold weather and I developed influenza due to the cold and exposure. I was forced out to work until about the 18'~' of December. Then I became unable to walk due to Beri-Beri and turned in to sickbay. I was in sickbay until the latter part of March, then gangrene set-in in my feet and I had to have six toes amputated.
About May 10, 1943, I was moved to a Japanese prisoner of war hospital, which was a stadium. It was about like a tunnel; very damp and cold with very little light. I was eaten up with lice and bed bugs. I remained here for approximately fifteen months without any medical treatment except a few vitamin pills,
which I received from the Red Cross during the latter part of my stay there. While here my legs drew up and I was unable to straighten them and I also lost eighty pounds of my normal weight. July 25, 1944, I was transferred back to Camp Yodagawa where I remained in sickbay with light duty until I was liberated. Then I was taken to a naval hospital ship where I received treatment for my legs and feet. When I arrived in Manila, I was transferred to an army transport ship and brought back to the states. Upon arrival I was taken to the Letterman General Hospital where I spent four days.
I was then transferred to the Brooke General Hospital where I am still receiving treatment.
1St Lt. Lester E. Dupree
The following poem was read at the ceremony when Dutch was awarded the Purple Heart by Brigadier General Mike Cokinos:
”They”
Strange things were done under the tropic sun
By the men in khaki twill,
Those tropic nights have seen some sights
That would make your heart stand still,
Those mountain trails could spin some tales
That no man would ever like;
But the worst of all was after the fall
When we started on that hike.
T'was the 7th of December in `41
When they hit Hawaii as the day begun;
T'was a Sunday morning and all was calm
When out of nowhere there came the bombs,
It didn't last long but the damage was done -
American was a war with the rising sun.
Now over in the Philippines we heard the news;
And it shook every man clean down to his shoes.
It seemed like a dream to begin:
But soon every soldier was a fighting man.
Each branch was ready to do its part
Artillery, Infantry, Nichols and Clark.
And then they came on that Monday noon,
They hit Clark Field like a typhoon.
That Monday night the moon was clear;
They razed Nichols from front to rear.
As the days went by more bombers came;
And soon only a few P-40's remained.
Then the orders came and said retreat,
That no man would be seen on the city streets.
So across the bay we moved at night
Away from Manila and out of sight,
Deep into the jungles of Bataan
Where 15,000 were to make a stand.
Here we fought as a soldier should.
As the days went by we spilled our blood.
Tho' the rumors came and went by night
That convoy never came in sight.
April 7th was a fatal day
When the word went round that we couldn't stay,
That the front line was due to fall:
So the troops moved back one and all.
The very next day the surrender came.
Then we were men without a name!
You may think here's where the story ends,
But actually here's where it begins.
Tho' we fought and didn't see victory
The story of that march will go down in history.
We marched along in columns of four
Living and seeing the horrors of war,
And when a man fell along the way
A cold bayonet would make him pay
For those four months he fought on Bataan.
Then they'd kill him cause he couldn't stand.
The tropic sun would sweat us dry
For the pumps were few that we passed by.
But on we marched to a place unknown
A place to rest and a place to call home.
Home not that you might know,
But home to man that suffered a blow.
Then to O'Donnell camp en masse
Some never back thru' those gates to pass.
In Nipa huts we lived like beast,
Bad rice and camotes were called a feast.
Our minds went back to days gone by
When our throats were never dry -
Of our wives, our mothers, and friends,
of our by-done day and our many sins.
And about four thousand passed away
And how many more no man can say,
For no tombstone marks the spot.
Where thirty to fifty were buried in lot,
Piled together as a rubbish heap -
The remains of men who were forced to retreat.
Now I want to state and my words are straight,
And I bet you think they're true -
That if you gotta die it's better to try
And take them with you too.
It's they that took us that fatal day,
It's they that made us pay and pay,
It's they that counted us morn and night,
It's they that again we wanted to fight,
It's they that made us as we are.
But it's not they that'll win this war -
For the men in Khaki will come some day
And take us back to the U.S.A.
This final poem was written by Cherie Hughes Reed for Dutch and read by her mother at the memorial service for Dutch 21 Aug 01. Ms. Reed is a friend of Amy Hirasaki, who on her way into church would always stop by the pew where Dutch was seated to say hello; during his prolonged illness, she sent him many cards of cheer. After learning of his death she sat down and wrote this poem: