Remembering my hero on Veterans Day
November is truly Dad’s month. His birthday is on the 19th. He would have been 91 years old. This Thursday is Veterans Day. I like to tell his story every chance I get. He and many others fought a great war, so we may all be free. This is for Dad and all our heroes …
Covering a Veterans Day memorial service for the newspaper one year, I heard someone speak of our World War II veterans as “the generation of heroes … ordinary people who serve as examples of what we should be,” and I remembered my hero.
Dad was a lieutenant in the Philippine Army, which at that time was part of the USAFFE (United States Armed Forces in the Far East). He fought in the Philippines against the Japanese during World War II. He was captured in Bataan and survived the infamous Death March. That’s all I knew about my dad’s war experience until many years later, when one evening, after meeting another veteran and Death March survivor in our town in Iowa, and with some prodding from my father-in-law, Dad opened the door to a part of him we had not known before.
Dad, along with other ROTC cadets, was inducted into the Philippine Army just a few months before the war. He was only 22 years old at the time. Since he had a college degree, he was commissioned a second lieutenant in the Quartermaster Corps and only went to the front lines when he had to take food supplies.
“It saved my life,” he said.
It was while Dad and some of his men were on a truck delivering canned goods in the Bataan peninsula that they were captured by the Japanese. When Bataan fell, Dad and the other prisoners were made to walk 60 miles in the searing heat from the battlefield to a main station and then transported to Camp O’Donnell in Capas, Tarlac.
The Death March lasted from five to nine days, depending on where on the trail a prisoner began the march. There were about 75,000 Americans and Filipinos captured in Bataan. After the march, there were about 54,000 still alive. Less than half survived the internment camps.
Dad said even after many years, he would still wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares of the “heat and sweat.” He said not one day went by when he didn’t think about his friends who were killed.
Dad recalled being fed one bowl of rice a day and, sometimes, nothing at all. He was only allowed to drink water from the river, along with the horses, and he remembered it being tainted with blood. He could not sleep because he was tied back to back with another prisoner during the night.
He never forgot the burly Japanese sergeant who hit the prisoners with a stick when they walked in the middle of the road, or whenever he felt like it; the Japanese soldiers who passed them in trucks, eating watermelon, taunting and laughing as the hungry prisoners reached out for the fruits; the hot, airless cargo train that took them to the concentration camp, where he was sick with malaria one day and dysentery the next. He watched his dead campmates being wrapped in blankets and taken to unmarked graves, and he wondered when his turn would come.
Dad’s mom and sister would visit the camp daily and beg the Japanese to release him. Finally, after several months, the guards relented because he was so sick. He later hid north of Manila, listened to a short wave radio and charted the progress of the American forces until Liberation.
The young man at the Veterans Day service said the greatest part about these veterans being heroes is not only that they had fought in the war, but “it is in what they did after that should inspire us. They went on to be doctors, lawyers and teachers. They went on with their lives and continued to make ours better.”
After the war, Dad continued his studies and became a lawyer. He never practiced law; instead, he worked in advertising for the Philippines Herald newspaper. He put up his own advertising and marketing firm a few years later. Then, he and Mom went back to school and earned their graduate degrees in marriage and counseling. They became marriage and youth counselors and gave countless talks to schools and organizations. They also became weekly columnists for the Panorama, the Manila Bulletin newspaper’s Sunday magazine.
On January 23, 1993, the day Dad died, he experienced an excruciating pain in his stomach, but refused to miss a talk to hundreds of parents of elementary school children at La Consolacion College. His last words were to them: “Teach your children to pray. Don’t just tell them; show them.” As he walked out of the auditorium, he collapsed to the floor. It was quick, as if he had been snatched away.
As we grieved after his burial, I lamented on the loss of his knowledge, his wisdom, and I was so afraid I would forget him. Mom consoled me and said, “You have to have faith. All he was is passed on to all of us. He lives on in our hearts.”
It’s been 17 years since Dad died and I still remember, like it was yesterday. I miss him. I miss his warm embrace, his humor, his teasing voice, even his corny jokes. I miss his laughter, and I even miss his nagging, “Hija (Daughter), pray, pray, pray!”
That was my father, a man of great faith.
“You can’t live on prayer alone,” I, the rebel, would sometimes chastise him.
When times would get tough, he would sit on his office chair, scratch his chin, stare out the window and say, “God will provide, Hija.” Strangely as it would sometimes seem, somehow, God always did.
War leaves an indelible mark on people. The experience made Dad more sensitive, more giving toward others and more trusting in the Lord.
Veterans Day reminds us life is about faith and giving, the giving of life for country, making sacrifices so generations after can have a better life, and trusting in God. No matter the reasons for each war, all who have served their country are brave heroes. They pass on a legacy we should cherish and always remember.
Dad passed on to me the story of his life, and most of all, he passed on his strong faith in God, so when I can, I try and share it with others.
When times get tough, I find myself doing the same thing – staring out the window, scratching my chin and murmuring the same words, “God will provide,” knowing Dad and God are with me.
Here he is, grinning from ear to ear, my dad, Lt. Jose M. Meily, Jr. (far right), celebrating at a club in San Francisco, where members of the USAFFE were recognized at the end of the war. This photo was published along with a similar column of mine in one of the newspapers I worked at several years ago.
Dad, Mom and me at my school’s Parents’ Night, 1965
The Giants’ game and remembering lessons my father taught us
Who would have thought I would be sitting white-knuckled, watching tonight’s Giants’ game. You see, up until a few nights ago, I wasn’t interested in the World Series. Then, I caught the second game last week, and I was hooked. Watching the games brought back full circle the lessons my father taught us through the game of baseball.
I’ve always regarded November as Dad’s month. He would have turned 91 on November 19. Dad died on January 23, 1993. During his necrological service, each of us, his six children, remembered Dad. My brother Jim, gave the following remarks, which summed up so well the kind of man my father was and the lessons he taught us, by just watching one baseball game. Here it is in Jimmy’s words:
During one of his many visits to the U.S., Dad and I were watching a baseball game on TV. He loved the sport with a passion. I kidded him about why he liked watching baseball so much. I found the game slow and boring. He just laughed and said, “Hijo (Son), baseball is like life. It may be slow and boring at times, but when the action starts, it happens so fast.”
At that moment, one of the players got a hit and the ball drifted towards the right fielder, for what should have been a routine catch. But the right fielder fielded the ball so lackadaisically, that he missed the catch.
Right then, Dad said, “See, hijo, he took it for granted that he was going to catch the ball. That’s just like life. You can’t take anything for granted. You should always try to be the best you can be and do everything with 100 percent effort.”
He continued, “Enjoy your life like these baseball players do, but always try to be the best in whatever you do, and DON’T DROP THE BALL!”
Then, a television commercial appeared with one of the baseball stars promoting donations to the United Way, a charity organization in the U.S. My dad turned to me and said, “Hijo, you should always do charity work in San Francisco.”
I told him, “Dad, I don’t have the time.”
Right away, he replied, “MAKE THE TIME.”
The game continued and one of the players made the sign of the cross before batting. My dad quickly said to me, “You see, Jimmy, even these baseball players are close to God. That’s why you should go to mass every Sunday and pray to the Lord every day, because unless you’re close to God, you’re nothing.”
So, just by watching that baseball game, Dad taught me how to live on the playing field of life.
First, be the best you can be at whatever you do.
Second, share your life with others through charity work.
Third, and most important, be close to God.
On this November evening, as I watched Edgar Renteria make the sign of the cross before he batted and made possible that three-run homer, and as I watched pitchers Tim Lincecum, Madison Bumgarner (last night), Matt Cain (the other night), Brian Wilson, catcher Buster Posey, infielders Aubrey Huff, Freddy Sanchez, outfielders Cody Ross, Andres Torres – to name but a few of this special group of players – play hard and do their best to win the World Series, I remembered Dad. It was as if through the Giants’ games, Dad was reminding me again, about how to live in the playing field of life.
Dad was an avid Yankees fan, but I bet he would have cheered for the Giants this evening!
Rose Meily
At ground level 