and helpful nurses who were interned with us, such as Dr. Theodore Stevenson, and to selfless volunteers, such as that eminent scholar and priest, Father John F. Hurley, who acted as orderlies in the hospital. However, the legions of bedbugs were on the side of the Japanese who denied us the means to combat them. And, as far as I am concerned, that was not the least of their crimes, but the crowded conditions, the filth, and the bedbugs did their share to break us down. Sleepless by night, and starving by day-the Japanese way with American prisoners.

I am still suffering from recurrent attacks of spastic neuritis, a dreadfully painful disease caused by a deterioration of the nerves due to prolonged starvation.

We were a family of five in the camp. My husband has, as a result of his experiences there, a serious heart impairment that makes it problematical how long he can continue in his important position. My son-in-law has recurrent attacks of a fever caught in the camp that keeps him in a poor state of health and impaired earning capacity. My little granddaughter, interned at 3 months old, and in concentration until the last day, has to have, even now, deep X-ray treatments or suffer amputation of part of her hand for an infection caught in that filthy camp and treated unsuccessfully there. She is 5 years old and already has a lifetime of suffering behind her.

The first I knew of the Americans' coming-I was unconscious the night they came in-was in the morning. I was getting a blood transfusion and a stalwart American soldier stepped through the window by my bed, put his arm around my head, and said, "You're all right now, Grandma, we'll take care of you." If he were only a Congressman!

Beautiful as the greeting was, gentlemen, it hurt. I had lost 68 pounds, and I was just a poor old grandma. Far from reasons of vanity, being a grandma was a real and heartbreaking fact. As I told you, my daughter and her 3-month-old baby were interned from the first day to the last. That little baby survived, though twice we watched at the hospital for her death from bacillary dysentery.

Did you know, gentlemen, that for our dead the Japanese provided rude unpainted boxes? That if the box were too short, or the dead too tall, their poor shanks stuck out at the end, the cover tied on with a dirty rope, cutting into the dead flesh, as the driver, sitting on them on a cart, took them to God knows what dumping ground? If our little girl had died, gentlemen, I would be mad today, even though I might not be dead.

We lost everything we had, including a house we had just finished building and furnishing the week the Japs came in. Too bad we were not as fortunate as the British nationals in China and Hong Kong, whose Government cared enough for them to warn them of the crisis. If we could not have saved our possessions, we could at least have faced life again with our health. Our sick who died need not have died, our 26 internees killed in the last phase of liberation would be alive, and our 300 terribly wounded and our helpless little children would not have suffered; our tortured and murdered men would not be hapless victims of Japanese fury.

As the honorable chairman is from New Jersey, as well as myself, I want to tell him that when MacArthur's troops relieved us many

soldiers visited us in the hospital. Most of them were Texans. I asked one group, "Is nobody fighting this war except the South? Aren't there any boys from New Jersey?" One grand Texan lad answered, "Waal, I'll tell you, Ma'am, just how it is. This war's a little too tough for New Jersey boys."

Gentlemen, the war is still too tough for too many of us; for me and my recurrent attacks of spastic neuritis; for my beautiful little 5-yearold granddaughter, facing pain; for her father trying to regain his health on a farm, faced with costly hospital expenses, with his former income cut off; and for many, much, much more unfortunate than we. It is mystifying that we have to come and plead with our own Government for compensation from the Japanese. Of course, the neediest could not come. They have not the train fare. The sick in the hospitals and the broken in the homes could not come. I wish they could have, gentlemen.

I had two sons in the war, one in the Army and one in the Navy, of whose citations I am very proud. They did their duty more than well, and that was their compensation.

But the helpless civilians, needlessly and infamously mistreated by the Japanese, should have, I respect fully submit, the fullest compensation from that source. It is only justice, gentlemen.

The CHAIRMAN. Are there any questions?

We thank you for your statement.

Mr. MILLER. Will you call this testimony to the particular attention of the gentleman from Texas who is absent this afternoon? I think that he would be interested in reading it.

Mr. HINSHAW. Not being from either State, I would like to rise to remark that no doubt the reason why the Texans found themselves in the Philippines was because they were accustomed to hot and humid weather, while the Jerseyites were sent to Europe where the climate was more suitable to their conditioning.

The CHAIRMAN. I do not believe that I have to make any defense at all for the service that was rendered by the troops from New Jersey. That completes the hearings for today. We will continue tomorrow at 10 o'clock.

I would like to make as a part of today's testimony statements, one by Mrs. E. J. Halsema, and another by Alice Williams, Brooklyn, N. Y. They will be made a part of the record.

(The statements are as follows:)

STATEMENT OF MARIE BOESEL OF OHIO

My name is Marie Boesel Halsema (Mrs. E. J. Halsema).

My husband and I (Americans from Ohio) were married in 1912 and went to the Philippines on our wedding trip. I lived there almost continuously until I was repatriated in June of 1945. We had our home in the Philippines; we brought up our children there, and all our possessions were there when the Japanese came and took them from us. We had been given no warning to leave the Philippines and it was a shock when our troops left Baguio and the Japs arrived.

First the Japs commandeered our car to bring in more of their troops. That was the last time we saw it. Next they took us from our homes and crowded about 500 of us into part of Brent School. Though we were taken under the pretext of registering, some of us took luggage with us. Others were refused permission to take any luggage with them (even extra diapers for the babies). From Brent School they made us walk about 4 miles to Camp John Hay. We could take with us only what we could carry (and that included the children).

I made that walk. We didn't have many possessions left at the end of that march. They packed the 500 of us into a barracks built for 80. Later they allowed us another barracks for the men, and later yet we were moved, but we never had more than 24 square feet of space per person and some of the time I did not even have room to stretch out to sleep.

We were without water the first 3 days, and when we did get it we who had empty cigarette tins to drink from were lucky. The Japs now owned my 90 cups at home. We slept on blankets on the floor. The Japs had our beds and bedding. We sat on a floor which we couldn't get clean, for lack of scrub brushes: the Japs sat on our chairs. We starved; the Japs had our food supplies. In many cases our food did not appeal to their tastes, so cans of those foods they opened with a bayonet jab and left to rot. They did not allow food to be sent to us for the first 4 months of the last year. They came into camp and took our money, stock certificates and other papers.

After 16 months my husband's health was so poor that the Japanese, fearful of a bad record to show in the camp death rate, released us to live in Baguio under surveillance. We discovered then that the Japs considered all our property theirs, and that it was dangerous to sell even one's own things.

The rest of my family were interned for 37 months. In the last months they were transferred to Bilibid prison in Manila. After liberation they lost their few last keepsakes when the Japs set fire to Manila and thus forced evacuation of the prison which was then set upon by looters.

During the period when packages were allowed to be sent in, internees borrowed money for food-food at any price. Few in our camp were employed by American firms prior to the war, and consequently they had no income for over 3 years. Liberation found them not only stripped of their possessions but owing huge debts for food which the Japs should have furnished.

My husband was killed when the Baguio Hospital was bombed during the siege of Baguio. My son was tortured by the military police because he tried to get the news. My daughter's baby knew hunger during the first 21⁄2 years of his life. The discomfort and lack of privacy are just as much a part of our bitter memories as the fear and loss of liberty. None kept their health.

We do not ask the Japanese to pay for these intangibles, these important things; because no price could pay for them. But we who lost so much directly to the Japanese would like to see them pay for something. It is only fair that Japanese funds should be used for this purpose.

STATEMENT OF ALICE WILLIAMS OF BROOKLYN, N. Y.

My name is Alice Williams, American citizen, of Brooklyn, N. Y. When the war broke, my son Richard and I were in a city by the name of Iloilo on the island of Panay. My husband had gone to Manila on business the day before. All transportation and communication stopped between islands with the bombing of Manila.

The radio was our only source of information, and that mostly local from Manila. It was through this source on the evening of December 17, 1941, that I heard of the sinking of the steamship Corregidor very early that morning. This ship was attempting to make the trip to the southern islands to bring supplies and people back to their homes. She hit a mine in Manila Bay and went down in 3 minutes.

Several days later I received a cable from the Singer Sewing Machine Co. in Manila saying that my husband, F. E. Williams, had been aboard this ship and was still among those missing.

The following day we had the first of several air raids in our part of the islands.

A friend of mine, who was expecting a baby, moved in with me so that neither of us would be alone. Again from the radio came the news that a Nipponese destroyer was shelling Cebu, the city south of us, off and on, and was drifting up and down our coast line. We were supposed to be on guard for a possible shelling.

On the 28th of December we were told by our military authorities to clear out of town-they expected an invasion. As a result, a group of us drove north to a sugar central, leaving a couple of the boys at the house. Here we stayed until March 3, 1942, when we decided to return to the city, come what might. During that stay, my car was taken by the United States armed forces of the Far East.

In the meantime, Manila had fallen, and the radio continued from Bataan. My friend had had her baby; and she, the two babies (Richard was then a year old), and myself stayed close to the house while her husband, a pilot, was out most of the time with our armed forces.

With the fall of Bataan on April 9, and the finishing touches put on Cebu the following day, we were completely cut off for the remaining few days of freedom. In those few days my friend's baby was taken ill.

On the 16th of April the island of Panay was invaded. We all waited to be picked up. Those of us with small children were allowed to stay in our homes for the time being. We finally got permission to take the sick baby to the one hospital that was working as such. It was in control of the Japanese with a Spanish doctor. Our American doctors had been interned.

By this time the Japanese military police had taken over, and on the 20th of May we were ordered to appear for questioning, which turned into quite a grilling. We were then taken back to our house by guards, and given all of 15 minutes to pack what we could and clear out for the concentration camp, an old schoolhouse which had been fenced in. Incidentally, that was the last I saw of my home and its contents.

In this place the unsanitary conditions, inability to get food, most of which we borrowed money to buy ourselves, caused us all a great deal of illness. Dysentery, tropical ulcers, plus various other diseases laid us all low from time to time. Added to this, our doctors had practically no medicines with which to work.

The following year, in June 1943, we were shipped on a small interisland steamer to Manila. This trip took several days and nights, during which we slept on deck with sentries tramping over us most of the time. When we finally docked in Manila, we were trucked to Santo Tomas, the concentration camp of Manila.

Here for a while we were able to live a little differently. I managed to put my son, who was at this time 21⁄2 years of age, in with a group of yound children taken care of by a couple of young ladies for several hours each morning, While I took up a detail with the eye doctor at the building we used as a hospital. Here I saw many pathetic cases of people who were suffering from various ailments due to worry, fear, shock, and lack of proper food and medicinespeople who were old.

As the next few months went by, I began to feel that this program was getting too much for me and I gave up the hospital work. From then on I tried to keep us both going as well as conditions allowed.

With the passing of time, everything got more and more difficult. Illness was more frequent with both of us. Each illness meant more rapid loss of weight, and with that, loss of strength; until it got to be a real effort just to gather together our 800 calories per day and to keep our rather ragged clothing clean. At this point I was keeping Richard in or on his bed just as many hours a day as possible, with a couple of hours in the sun.

I've been told that one can get used to anything, and I'm fairly certain that one can and I did even to being hungry all the time and feeling only half alive. However, I never did get used to Richard being hungry and begging for milk which had long since run out.

These conditions continued until February 1945 when our boys arrived. I believe they figured the average loss of weight to be around 50 pounds per adult. I was lucky. I only lost 45. It took some time for tummies not to rebel against the food that was brought in. Having existed for so long as we had, real food upset us, and many people did not come back. Then came the shelling of our camp by the Japanese, and many more friends and acquaintances left the fold. On the 9th of March 1945, Richard and I left camp for the States, via Leyte. There are many things that can never be forgotten or replaced-but a home of our own is something I still hope for.

COPY OF THE LETTER FOR PRESENTATION TO THE HOUSE COMMITTEE ON INTERSTATE AND FOREIGN COMMERCE, IN SUPPORT OF BILL H. R. 1823

BEVERLY HILLS, CALIF., March 13, 1947.

TEMPORARY COMMITTEE OF AMERICAN INTERNEES,

In Care of P. R. Danner, United States Life Insurance Co.,

New York, N. Y.

GENTLEMEN: Referring to your letter of March 4 addressed to "Dear fellow internee" which was sent to me by Mr. William F. Boericke, a member of your committee, I wish to register my name and address with you.

I was a prisoner in Santo Tomas for 3 years and 2 months. Mr. Boericke can testify to this fact. Mr. Boericke can also testify that I came into "camp" without any finances whatsoever as I was just a tourist in Manila, and my monthly income from the States was cut off as soon as war was declared. Due to this fact and also having no outside contacts who could send in food for me even at the very beginning, I began to lose weight immediately.

For twenty-odd years I have lived in Beverly Hills, Calif., with my mother, and we are well established here. I was in Manila for about a year before war broke, just on a trip.

I have already written to my Congressman and will also write to the other two who are members of the House Committee on Interstate and Foreign Commerce mentioned on your list who are representing California.

The Japanese made no effort to send me back on the Gripsholm despite frantic efforts of my family who had an extremely influential person and nationally known person use all his influence in Washington, D. C., and the request was issued.

I would gladly go to Washington, D. C., to testify only if it was absolutely necessary as I am now working with a large national insurance company as a stenographer, but I wish to say that the fact that I was a prisoner hindered me from getting work for a year because of a nervousness of speech which developed from starvation (and also probably because a few days after my arrival home, I almost died), and people were naturally unwilling to employ me. In my present work, one of the chief excuses my employer gave for not giving me a raise was that my health was not good enough.

Sincerely yours,

(Miss) HELEN LOUISE WOLFE.

The CHAIRMAN. I would like to say at this time, and I would like to inform Mr. Wilson that at the conclusion of these hearings, if there are statements of witnesses in letter form or otherwise that you would like to make a part of this record, and who have not had the opportunity to be present to testify in person, you may submit them to either the clerk or myself, and we will give consideration to their being made a part of the record.

Mr. WILSON. Thank you. That might take some weeks. Will that make any difference?

The CHAIRMAN. I will leave it to Mr. Hinshaw to determine whether weeks is too long.

Mr. WILSON. I think that the witnesses that will appear before this hearing will give you a pretty good description, and it is the balance of everybody concerned."

The CHAIRMAN. It is our desire to enable you to put your full case before the committee in its hearings, so that we will have every viewpoint that you have knowledge of, and it is for that reason that I suggested that they could be made, possibly, a part of the record.

Mr. WILSON. Thank you very much for that opportunity.

The CHAIRMAN. We will be in recess until 10 o'clock tomorrow morning.

(Whereupon, at 5:30 p. m., Thursday, March 20, 1947, the committee adjourned until 10 a. m., Friday, March 21, 1947.)