Achille Tisdelle Story Of Japanese POW Life

Dr. Harold Proff, schooled at Gravelle, was mentioned briefly twice in a series of articles by the Chicago Tribune and reprinted by the Spokesman Review. The full diary has been published as well: Morton, Louis. “Bataan Diary of Major Achille C. Tisdelle.” Military Affairs 11, no. 3 (1947): 130–48. [1].

November 3, 1945 Spokesman-Review

Yanks Stuffed, Stifled in Ship

But Beatings Fewer, Food Better Than at Jap Camp

The transfer of American prisoners of war from Manila to Japan in the hold of a Japanese freighter is described in this installment of "Men Who Wouldn't Die," the stirring story of 40 months in Japanese prison camps based on the diary of the author, a former Chicago advertising man.

Article VII

By Major A. C. Tisdelle

As told to Carl Wiegman

Copyright to Chicago Tribune

We sailed from Manila in a Jap freighter on July 15, 1943, a group of 500 bewildered, under nourished American prisoners of war, who didn't have the faintest idea where they were going or what they would do when the reached their destination.

Oddly enough Major General Morimoto, the Jap commander at Manila, came down to the dock himself to wish us a safe and comfortable voyage. As I have said before, the Japs are a very polite people. Then the general inspected our ship and quarters and he could see plainly that we were assigned to a cargo space below decks, about 30 by 40 feet in area, without any means of ventilation except for the hatch above us.

We were in a hold of the ship that had been equipped with double deck platforms covered with grass mats. On these we put our blankets and there we slept and lived.

Meet Friendly Guard

A Japanese lieutenant in charge of our party issued life preservers to all except 15 men; there were not enough to go around. This made us apprehensive about a possible submarine attack, especially since the ship was not marked as a vessel carrying prisoners of war.

We were delighted to see among the guards a sergeant know to the us as Big Speedo, who was well liked by all the prisoners. Back at Cabanatuan he had never been known to strike a prisoner and when he was around, he permitted no enlisted men to beat us.

Our mental state as we sailed was one of pleasurable anticipation; not a man voiced any regrets at leaving the Philippines. We all felt that working conditions had been so bad, they couldn't get worse and they might get better.

Food is Encouraging

Our spirits had a letdown the first day. Instead of going to sea, the ship sailed up the coast to Santa Cruz an started loading manganese ore. We stayed there for three days, loading ore all the time until the ship hung low in the water.

The delay might have seemed irksome, but food was our main interest in life and the first food issued to us was mighty encouraging. It consisted of soft, fluffy rice cooked in a caldron heated by steam, vegetables and 15 Chinese hams. There was not much fat on the hams, but when they were boiled in soup, they provided a welcome relief from the usual vegetable soup. The food was prepared by our own cooks.

Nights of Misery

The ship put out to sea at 4 a. m. of the 29th, with all of us required to stay below decks, except for a maximum of 20 men who were permitted to be coming or going to the latrine. Regulating this procedure to the satisfaction of the Japs was a headache.

When we got out to sea, the Japs permitted a maximum of 100 men to be on deck from 6 a. mm to 4 p. m., but at night they closed the hatch and the only ventilation came through the tiny space at the top of a stairway to the deck. Soon the fetid air in the hold was suffocating. Moisture dripped from the deck bulkheads and sweat rolled off our bodies.

We endured this for two nights until we arrived at Takao, Formosa [now Taiwan] on the morning of the 31st. There the officers of our party were interviewed by two English speaking Japanese newspaper reporters. One of them asked me who I thought would win the war. I replied promptly that the United States would win. He did not become angry, but peered at me with a puzzled expression and asked me why I thought so.

Reporters Couldn't Believe

"If you had ever traveled in the United States and had seen American industry, you would never need to ask that question," I replied.

The other officers gave similar replies, and the Jap reporters smiled at us pittingly as they told us good-by.

We stayed in port for five days while the ship took on an additional cargo of brooms and hardwood logs to be used for rifle stocks. On the second day Pvt. Okonski was stricken with acute appendicitis. Our surgeon, Capt. Tom Hewlett of Louisville, Ky., operated on him on a table set up on deck, using a local anesthetic.

At the same time, Pvt. Slagle came down with pneumonia. Our physician, Lt. Harold Proff of Minneapolis, moved him to a place by his side, tended him night and day, and pulled him through.

Spurns Filipino Money

There were many food vendors on the dock, but we had nothing but Filipino money, which they would not accept. After much argument, we persuaded out interpreter to change some of the money at a bank and to buy us 1000 packages of cigarettes, and 53 cans of corned beef and cabbage. The corned beef was very strong with soya sauce, but it was good when mixed with rice.

The next day the interpreter bought for us 4000 bananas and 249 pineapples, which were almost too good to be true.

Our ship left port at 8 a. m., August 5, joining a nine-ship convoy. That night the hatch was closed again and we almost smothered. Sixty-five men fainted. We had to carry them up the stairway and hold them in the air until they revived.

Attacked by Submarine

The interpreter was dead drunk and we couldn't convince any of the other Japs to open the hatch. Several navy men among the prisoners rigged up a windsail on the deck to deflect air into the hold. This helped a little.

It rained most of the following day, which meant the Japs kept the hatch closed because they didn't want their precious manganese ore to get wet.

At nightfall we were attacked by a submarine, our biggest thrill since our war ended. We had feared a sub attack when the voyage began, but when it happened we were just glad--glad that our country was still in the war. Huddled down in the hold, we heard no explosion, but next morning there were only eight ships in the convoy. Seeing that also was a thrill.

During the remainder of the voyage, the convoy was escorted by light attack bombers. On Sunday August 8, our interpreter recovered from his drunk and produced a 220-pound sack of salted peanuts, which he sold to us for 55 pesos ($27.50 at the prewar rate of exchange.)

Cook Beaten for Protest

One of our cooks, Ship's Storekeeper Gascoyne, who never was afraid to talk back to a Jap, got into an argument with a Jap cook about the amount of rice to be issued to the prisoners and was beaten on his head and shoulders with a shovel.

We protested to the interpreter, who gave a command, and a Jap non-com beat the daylights out of the offending Jap cook. We rubbed our eyes uncomprehending, when we heard about the miraculous retribution.

During the whole voyage, only three or four prisoners were slapped around by the guards. The food was good, and many guards gave us cigarettes. We almost began to expect a welcoming delegation of geisha girls when we arrived in Japan, which we now knew was our unwilling destination.

November 7, 1945 Spokesman-Review

Yanks Ridicule Nips in Secret

Captors Fail to Break Spirit of Their Prisoners

Article XI

By Major A. C. Tisdelle

As told to Carl Wiegman

Copyright to Chicago Tribune

The Japs succeeded in making our men slave in a coal mine, but they failed to break their spirit. We evaded their regulations in a hundred ways, mocked them behind their backs and never for an instant let them think we had given up hope of victory.

As the camp's commanding officer, I felt responsible for the welfare of all the prisoners, and sometimes believed the men carried their defiance to extremes. When disobedience or misbehavior caused the whole camp to suffer, I was opposed to it, and told the men so.

Communicate Through Orders I was never permitted to talk to the whole camp except in the presence of Japanese officers, but managed to get in a few words at the morning roll call and also was able to talk privately to small groups. We had a way of communicating through written orders posted on the bulletin boards in each barracks. If my name was signed to an order, it meant I was not in sympathy with it, but was warning the men not to get caught disobeying it.

We also worked out a complete plan for disarming the Jap guards and seizing the camp to prevent a possible massacre of prisoners prior to the arrival of the invading American troops. Only a few of the most level-headed men were admitted to this plot, which fortunately, we did not have to carry out.

My diary mentions that on October 26, 1943, 36 prisoners were permitted to send 25-word radio messages to the United States. We knew the Japs were simply using us to induce Americans to listen to their radio propaganda, but seized the opportunity nevertheless, hoping the messages would be heard. Three weeks later all of us were permitted to send home a 40-word postcard. In these messages the Japs prohibited any reference to the war or any unflattering remarks about the camp, but several men managed to evade the rules. One let his family know out food was poor by writing: "The Japs are very good to us. We had pepper in our soup today.["]

Another whose uncle formerly worked in a coal mine, let his family know he was a miner by writing: "I have been doing the same thing Uncle George used to do."

Jap Censors Busy

The Jap censors cut out such remarks as "I hope Uncle Samuel is improving." They also eliminated expressions like "Tell it to Sweeney" at the end of sentence praising the Japs.

The coal mine superintendent, Key Yamamoto, gave our camp an electric phonograph and 30 old records on November 5. Among the records was a Japanese band's rendition of the United States navy anthem, "Anchors Aweigh." On the other side of the record was a march composed in honor of the American cruiser Augusta, which returned to Japan the body of Ambassador Hiro Shito several years before the war.

American and Japanese flags were [crossed] on the label of this record, and as an introduction to the music of the August march, an announcer referred to the cruiser's voyage as "another tie that strengthens the undying friendship between Japan and the United States.

We thought this a great joke.

Work on Christmas Day

Christmas of 1943 fell on a Saturday, when the men had to work in the mine, but we celebrated the next day and got one of the rare good meals of our two years in Japan. Each man received a can of meat obtained by the Japs from the Red Cross packages. Men with good work records were given an extra can. Lt. Uri, the Jap commander, gave us about $20 worth of phonograph records and the coal mine sent over 2500 oranges, which helped to cure many cases of scurvy.

For our Christmas dinner each man got three buns instead of the customary rice. Each of us also received a spoonful of butter, one small fish, and soup containing a piece of meat about the size of a walnut. On the same day the Japs issued to our commissary 28 pound of cocoa from Red Cross packages and a quarter of a pound of sugar per man.

Religious services, including carol singing, were conducted by Pvt. Denny, an ordained Baptist minister who was one of the prisoners. He had joined the army shortly before the war and was captured on Bataan. At our camp he was still suffering from beri-beri. Since we had no chaplain, we named him acting chaplain, and he did much good work.

In the evening of out Christmas, we made a theater out of the mess hall by stringing blankets on a wire at one end to create a stage. There we put on a variety show and a dramatic production of Dickens' "Christmas Carol." The drama was written from memory and was rather garbled, but the men seemed to enjoy it.

Late in January a prisoner died of starvation in the Jap guardhouse. This man had been in trouble many times, both with the Japs and the American camp authorities, and to spare the feelings of his family, his name is withheld. His hardships must have driven him out of his mind, for he committed the unforgivable act of carrying tales to the Japs. Although we did not mourn his death, we did not believe the Japs had any license to kill him.

The next important entry in my diary is on February 8,1944, when Pvt. Joseph A Garrison died of spinal meningitis. We feared an epidemic of the dreaded disease, but only one other man was stricken. [[Harold Proff |Dr. Harold P. Proff]] loaded the second victim with sulfa drugs and nursed him back to health or what passed for health in our camp.

Quarantined, but Work

The Japs handled the danger of an epidemic with their usual disregard of common sense. All the prisoners in the stricken men's section of the camp were quarantined in their barracks while they were in camp, but they were required to continue work in the coal mine.

On February 9 the camp received 400 letters from the United States. Some men received 20 or 30 letters; others got none. I was among those who got none, so was in a position to sympathize with men who came to me asking for an explanation of the uneven distribution. Trying to comfort them, I invented a story of how the Japs, with their usual inefficiency, probably arranged the letters in some peculiar order, and therefore the forgotten men would get letters in the next distribution. The story seems to satisfy them.

Four days later the Japs provided excitement to the camp by having us pose for a propaganda sound movie intended for consumption in the United States. This was one of the first hints that they were no longer cocksure of victory.

Manages to Fool Japs

The Japs handed me a script in which I was supposed to say:

"We prisoners think the United States ought to make peace, because the United States has no reason to fight the war." Such a statement would have been treasonable in the first place and in the second place, I didn't believe it, but for a little while I was nervous over the problem of what to say.

Fortunately the Japs told me to speak without a script in my hand, and when the time came, I said: "All prisoners hope the United State will bring the war to a close. We are all anxious to come home. We want to see our families and friends and to enjoy American cooking again. We also want to hear American music again, such as the music of Jerome Kern, Vincent Youmans, George M. Cohan, and Francis Scott Key."

I put a little emphasis on Francis Scott Key, but the Japs did not catch the implication of the name and made no objection to my speech.

Every few weeks the Japs informed us gloatingly that the entire American fleet had been sunk. We got used to it and had a stock answer.

"Did you hear that the entire American Fleet has been sunk?" a Jap guard would inquire.

"Oh, is that so," we would reply.

November 8, 1945 Spokesman-Review

Red Cross Gift Looted by Japs

Least Needy Prisoner Often Got Most Supplies

Article XII

By Major A. C. Tisdelle

As told to Carl Wiegman

Copyright by Chicago Tribune

The Japs had a fiendish way of handling Red Cross supplies. They helped themselves to a large part of the gifts, and after every delivery we could see a mounting pile of cans outside their quarters. We almost wished the Red Cross would stop sending the stuff to us.

Moreover, the Japs used the Red Cross goods to reward the best workers in the mine, which often meant rewarding the strongest men, rather than those who needed the food most. Whenever a shipment came to our camp, the Japs required me to sign a receipt. Knowing full well the Japs had looted it, I signed my name and beneath it wrote "Vi coactus," which, as I recall my Latin, meant, "done under duress." The Japs evidently thought the phrase was part of my military title and let it go.

Distributed by Lot

After the scanty Red Cross food distribution on Christmas, 1943, we received no more until April 2, which each man in camp got one can of corned beef, salmon, canned meat, butter, or jam. The distribution was by lottery. In the same shipment we received biscuits, tea, raisins, and prunes in quantities sufficient so that every man received something.

The Japs must have had a mental breakdown on this notable April 2, because my diary records that they also distributed such luxuries as Red Cross wool sweaters, wool shirts, khaki socks, flannel pajamas, G. I. blankets, wool and leather gloves, cotton fatigue uniforms, sewing kits, razors, tooth powder and shaving cream. There wasn't enough of any of these items to go around.

However, all of the gifts were godsends, especially the warm clothing and the sewing kits. One of our major concerns was to repair our clothes and shoes. We had a prisoner assigned as camp tailor, and he had a Jap sewing machine, but half of the time he had no thread. We also had a camp cobbler, but he had no nails or thread.

Thread from Blasting Fuses

Our men who worked in the coal mine soon discovered that the fuses used in blasting operations were wound with good quality thread, suitable for repairing shoes, and they started smuggling fuses into the camp. They continued the practice until a prisoner carelessly handled a fuse with the cap still on it, and blew off three of this fingers.

The Japs raised an uproar about this, despite out protests that the miserable offender was only trying to get thread to repair shoes to wear in the mine. The upshot was that the Japs ordered a search of the camp.

Fortunately, we always knew from their agitated behavior when the Jap guards were about to make a search and sent American non-coms [non-commissioned officers] ahead of the Jap searchers with instructions to pick up the contraband. In such searches we discovered and hid a large number of mine fuses, some of them with the caps still on.

One oddity of all the Jap searches was that they picked up only the things for which they were ordered to search. If they were hunting for jewelry, they took only jewelry. If they were hunting for pencils, they took only pencils.

We also were glad to get American tooth power from the Red Cross. Up to this time we could buy Jap tooth powder in our "canteen," but we discovered the stuff was almost sheer pumice, which tool all the enamel off our teeth. However, we found it excellent for cleaning mess kits, window glass and brass buttons. Some men swore it also was good for indigestion somewhat like bicarbonate of soda.

Soap Boxes, but Little Soap.

Besides the tooth power, the Japs issued a few other items to be sold in out canteen. These included soap boxes like those which the Japs sold by the million in American dime stores before the war. Unfortunately the canteen sold no soap, one of the things coal mine workers need most of all. For the first three months there was no soap in camp, which meant the miners always had coal dust around their eyes, in their ears and nose, and on their skulls, where the hair was kept clipped.

In November, 1943, the Japs issued to each man a bar of soft soap that lasted for about two days. In December each man got a bar of hard soap, not as good as a poor grade of American laundry soap. This was the last we received for a long time.

Out canteen also sold shoe polish. We never knew why, because the men had only the Jap type canvas shoes with soles made of auto tire casings.

Japs Provide a Good Drink

To give the devil his due, the Japs once provided our canteen with something that really was good. This was a drink called sapis, which was sweet and tasted like a mixture of lime and orange juice. The Japs sold us bottles of concentrated sapis which we diluted with water and sold for 5 cents a cup. We made a large sign advertising "Sapa-Cola" to hang in the canteen.

The whole camp stood in line whenever we sold sapis. Men paid it the highest compliment possible; they said they would think it was good even if they were back home in the United States. We never learned the ingredients of the drink. Some of us thought the flavor was artificial; others argued that it cleared up the scurvy and therefore must contain fruit juices. The argument died after the first three months, because the Japs stopped issuing the drink.

Water Required in Ashtrays

With fair regularity the Japs issued cigarettes to our canteen, but they were an endless source of trouble. We had no matches, of course, and to get a light we had to go to the kitchen, where coke fires were burning. The Japs, who have a phobia about fires, set up a thousand regulations to prevent them.

A man smoking a cigarette had to hold a saucer full of water as an ashtray. He might not smoke in his room, but had to stand in the corridor, holding the saucer. If he walked around the compound, he had to carry the saucer with his cigarette.

The Japs were always calling fire drills, for which everyone in camp had to turn out, including the men trying to sleep off the exhaustion of work in the mine. For those who happened to be awake, a fire drill offered some comedy entertainment because the Jap interpreter always waved his saber and shouted like a clown in the ancient circus set where a paper house burns down.

Cigarette Fund for the Sick

Under the nonsensical Jap rules, men injured in coal mine accidents continued to receive their base pay, but men who became ill from malnutrition or exposure in the min received no pay. We devised a system of assessing a small sum from the pay of working prisoners in order to give sick men a little money to buy cigarettes.

About once a month we had air raid drills, when everybody had to go to the shelter, except the men assigned to fire fighting. The shelters were simply holes six feed deep, shored up with timbers like the mine tunnels. They would have protected us against bomb splinters and flying rocks, and if any bomb had struck the area there would have been many flying rocks because the camp was built on rocks and slag taken from the mine.

Joyful Over Bombing by Yanks

While I was in the camp we never had to undergo an air raid and we never had the satisfaction of seeing an American bomber, although sometimes we saw what looked like vapor trails in the sky and imagined they might be our bombers. In November, 1944, we heard distant explosions that might have been bombs falling on Nagasaki. At least we hoped so.

In June, 1945, about a month after I was taken away from the camp, it was attacked by B-29s, which dropped incendiaries that burned half of the camp buildings. All the prisoners were in the shelters or in the coal mine, so none was hurt. Some of them told me later, they lost all their gear and suffered additional privations, but the joy of seeing the results of the raid was more than adequate compensation.