As I was searching for something else — which the computer had caused to join the “missing (online) persons” list), I ran across this ancient item from about a decade ago. It happens to be seasonably fashionable at the moment, and it is hereby posted to observe both Bat Appreciation Week (October 24-31) and Halloween.

The approach of Halloween occasionally brings reminders of a Halloween-type incident that occurred in STIC. In fact, it was actually in October (of 1944), because I clearly remember that U.S. bombing in the Manila area had started a few weeks earlier — on September 21 — and therefore a total blackout was in effect, which was strictly enforced. (I noted the occasion in my diary, but unfortunately it has long since been lost, as the result of a complicated series of events.) In any case, regardless of the exact date, the event developed as follows.

It was late in the evening, and a blackout was in effect, as noted, due to the bombing. Most internees were in their beds by that time, somewhere around 10 p.m. I had been talking with friends, as we often did, on the first floor of the Main Building, until we broke up and went our separate ways to our respective rooms. I started up the front stairs, accompanied by a couple of friends, who lived on the second floor. I then continued up the stairs alone — slowly, as it was an effort by late 1944 — heading for my room on the third floor. I had reached the landing between the second and third floors, had turned on the landing, and was just starting to climb the last flight of stairs to the third floor.

Suddenly I heard a strange noise, loud enough to catch my attention, but not overly loud. It is hard to describe, sort of a sliding/grinding/whirring sound; it was coming from above me and to the right. I looked up toward the wall (which bordered the west patio), where a window was located; it was about midway between the landing and the third floor, far out of the reach of any individual, whether inside or outside of the building. I recall that it wasn’t overly bright that night, and I just checked online on that — there were two full moons that month, on October 2 and October 31, so it wasn’t too bright during much of the month. But enough starlight coming through the opening clearly showed that the window was sliding downward, though fairly gradually — it was not loose or falling.

Given the situation — it was very dark, I was alone, and no one was anywhere nearby that I could see or hear — I froze in my tracks, eyes fixed on the moving window. Then, believe it or not, the window actually began to slide upward, making the same odd sound. Panic stricken, I snapped out of my stupor and, starvation or not, it seemed as if I covered the last 15 or so steps in a couple of leaps and/or bounds, though of course that was not possible. Nobody was around — everyone was in bed by then — so I quickly got in bed myself, not even bothering to use the sink that our room was blessed with, let alone use the men’s bathroom at the other end of the building. It was quite a relief to be “safe” in the midst of some 60 or so slumbering roommates.

The next morning I looked closely at the window in question, of course, but it appeared “normal” and I could see nothing out of the ordinary; and there was no ladder on the outside when I checked. I never did find out what might have caused the episode, and I never told anyone about it, either then or later, because it sounded too weird to have occurred, and thus I was afraid of being mocked and/or accused of having had hallucinations, or perhaps of just making up the whole thing. Such reactions obviously may ensue now, but that would no longer bother me — not at this point. Any suggested explanations of the event would be welcome.

INTRODUCTION. The first order of business for a memoir such as this is to try to anticipate, and to answer, the most likely questions it may raise, in order to minimize any potential uncertainties and/or misconceptions. This Introduction seeks to do just that, dealing first with the title and then broadly with the memoir as a whole. Possible queries about the former, unlike the case with the latter, can be foreseen with specificity, for obviously they will pertain to the title’s individual words and terms; thus each of these will be clarified in turn. [Note: Anyone interested mainly in the event itself and not in terminological issues may wish to proceed directly to the next section, titled “Essential Prerequisites.”] [Note: First, though, a point of procedure to note — to avoid footnotes, only author’s names (and page numbers if relevant) are included in the text; full titles of cited works are listed at the end.]

To begin with, even the innocuous and seemingly inconsequential word “The” requires clarification. That is because, if “A” had been used instead, the phrase “A bar mitzvah” might have conveyed the erroneous impression that there were other bar mitzvahs that took place in similar circumstances. But there is absolutely nothing on the record to indicate that anything of the kind ever happened. Indeed, the mere idea of such a thing no doubt would evoke — from those familiar with the historical record — reactions of astonishment, incredulity, and/or even mirth. The fact is that, on the contrary, “during World War II, Jews interned in concentration camps were unable to mark their symbolic transformation[s] from children into. . . adulthood” with bar mitzvahs. [Quoted from Haaretz.com ]

As context for understanding the term “bar mitzvah,” virtually all societies observe so-called rites of passage; these involve ceremonies indicating that certain individuals or groups are eligible, usually based on age, to pass from one status to another, often defined in religious terms. The bar mitzvah — Hebrew for “son of the commandment” — is the Jewish rite of passage, or “symbolic transformation.” Normally observed with a ceremony in a synagogue, it signifies that a male has reached the age of 13, or religious adulthood, and thus is now qualified to fulfill all the commandments of his religion. (For females, the equivalent term is “bat mitzvah” — a relatively recent innovation, dating to 1922.)
Continue reading →

Introduction. “Music is the art of arranging sound. It is one of the universal cultural aspects of all human societies” (Wikipedia).

Similarly, music is also a key element — interestingly, perhaps oddly — of internment-camp life, although that is not always fully acknowledged, or even recognized. As such, music is one component in such camps of what I call the Diversion Factor. The latter encompasses those activities that can serve at least two important functions: acting as a unifying element for camp prisoners; and offering them distractions from the burdensome reality of captivity. The concern here, in other words, is only with those activities that can unify and/or be enjoyed by a camp’s inmates as a whole, as distinguished from their purely personal or group pastimes/distractions (card games, chess, reading, etc.).
 
The next section will trace the nature and scope of the Diversion Factor in a particular internment Camp, to provide context for examining that Camp’s musical component (Camp is capitalized to distinguish it from the generic internment camp). But to begin with, three points of clarification relating to the title are in order. First, for anyone unfamiliar with the subject, the acronym STIC refers to Manila’s Nipponese-controlled Santo Tomas Internment Camp (a.k.a. Manila Internment Camp). STIC’s 4,000 or so civilian inmates — Allied-country nationals, mostly Americans — endured over three years of privation (1942-1945), culminating in starvation rations, during World War II (WWII).
 
Second, the term “Signature Songs” refers to those musical works I consider to be the most reflective and representative of everyday Camp existence, and thus in a sense also of Camp history in general. In effect, the four compositions I have selected as Signature Songs are the equivalent of Camp theme songs, even anthems, and as such their study can provide insights, for former internees and especially for non-internees alike, into the nature of Camp life. Rephrased to drive the point home, this survey of the most noteworthy STIC-related music seeks to portray its role in and significance for Camp life — as based, again, on my own judgment.
 
Third, this study aims to ascertain the sources — meaning the composers and the recording artists — of the four Signature Songs. For this account goes beyond simply identifying and describing the songs in question. The fact is that information about sources — aside from being worthwhile (to some) for its own sake — can provide additional insights into Camp history. Last (and surely least), the very process of seeking such information (regardless of success) serves to satisfy my personal interests, including my sense of order. But enough of preliminaries; we now turn to the substantive portions of this STIC-music retrospective.
Continue reading →

A long-forgotten name from out of the dim and distant past suddenly came to my attention recently as I was looking through a “Maurice Francis Archives” post of 30 January 2022. It concerned an individual named William Sidney Nabors, who in World War II (WWII) was a civilian prisoner of the Nipponese for 37 months in Manila’s Santo Tomas Internment Camp (STIC). The significance of Nabors is the fact that his assumed name — which he used when he performed as a professional wrestler — was Danny Dusek (pictured at left). Now, while I did not know Nabors, in STIC or elsewhere, I was aware of the name and occupation of Danny Dusek, for he was well-known in the U.S. and the Philippines before WWII. He must have been well-known, as even I had heard of him, although I was not interested in sports at the time and was just 11 years old when I was welcomed into STIC. Probably I knew of Dusek because I was (and still am) a habitual listener to radio, and possibly also because of mentions by my father, who was interested in wrestling and especially boxing (he once took me along to see Jack Dempsey’s arrival at the Manila airport); and publicity surrounding Dusek’s arrival in the Philippines in 1941 undoubtedly was a major factor. [Note: for present purposes, pro wrestling is treated as a legitimate sport.]

The initial material available to me (via the various links in the cited Maurice Francis post) about Nabors/Dusek — hereafter cited only as Dusek — revealed that he had resumed his wrestling career when he returned to the U.S. after STIC’s liberation in 1945, and indeed continued it long thereafter. But one thing about that material puzzled me: it did not once mention what I considered to be a significant fact — his STIC imprisonment for over three years. That odd omission (even in his obituary) helped propel my decision to investigate “The Dusek Story” in more detail. This account, which is primarily about his post-STIC exploits in the ring, is intended both to alert the “ex-internee community” to the fact of his imprisonment, and more generally to attempt to rescue from obscurity the post-internment record of one of the thousands of WWII civilian guests of the Nipponese — plus (last and certainly least) in so doing, possibly to stir the interest of any fans of professional wrestling who may yet be lurking somewhere in the audience.
Continue reading →