Incidentally, such is the disappointment of the U.S. Army's inability to hire laborers that they erected two signs in San Juan saying: "Why should we work day and night if you won't?" Perlman said several Americans in his neighborhood have complained about the Filipinos' unwillingness to work. "Frankly, it is below my rank in life to work at a shovel," said one.

"Hell," replied the American, "I used to work at the National City Bank and I'm shoveling dirt these days."

The thing is, we are in a crucial period of change and the Filipinos have yet to get used to the idea that their old dreams of freedom and luxury, destroyed with cynical cruelty by the Japanese, can only return by the sweat of their own brow.

. . . .

Oscar Perlman lived in Singalong, near Remedios. His story is similar to that of others: he heard of atrocities left and right but saw none himself. He mentioned one case where the Japanese killed 18 Filipinos in one house. The Filipinos started a celebration when they spotted the Americans in the distance, whereupon the Japanese entered and slew them.

Like many others, Oscar's home had accumulated some 20 refugees by the time the encroaching fires forced them to move. He had a novel take on the fires: "The Japanese started them to cover the flashes of their own guns." Strong winds on the night of February 10 caused the fires to spread.

His crowd roamed the streets for eighteen hours of indescribable terror and confusion, suffering but a few casualties. Shrapnel decapitated a man right in front of him. "The head was gone but the hands went up to grab it as the legs moved crazily. [The body] turned two rounds before falling in a heap."

Oscar and his wife each carried one child while a faithful houseboy pushed a cartload of emergency food and medicines. His wife had jewelry, dollars and genuine pesos hidden in a money belt. Stopped for a search, she slipped it to the lad to stash in the pushcart. The situation looked very bleak, but they were waved on and resumed their odyssey. A while later, a bullet or shrapnel went right through the houseboy from the back. He tried to yell to them but only blood came out.

. . . .

continues...