Brought some coffee to Romiro then to Santo Tomas but had to get back to lend my bike to Paul. I found Tante Marie home at last with Gabby's eldest kid, René — a sprightly 10 year-old. René, all spic and span in white, sauntered out into the garden and was soon spotted and invited over by Mrs. MacArthur to play with Arthur. Little Arthur must have been impressed with René because he promptly bestowed upon him the gift of a color post-card of prewar Manila (Arthur had hundreds of them). "Next time," I told René, "ask for one autographed by the General."

Tante Marie recounted a bit of her many experiences. She certainly took the shelling calmly, except when the lady died beneath her bed. Incidentally, shelling or not, Tante Marie slept ON her bed after changing into a nightgown. The family upstairs had moved down into her apartment for safety. One day when their son went upstairs for something, a shell hit and killed him instantly.

Little René did a little talking too. He said it was a horrible experience but it had its funny moments. In an air raid shelter, a weak-kneed husband would no sooner get up to retrieve some belongings from their home (using a pillow for protection) when a shell would send him crashing back down. His knocking wife would nag him: "Coward, beggar, go! Go like the other men," until he couldn't stand it and got up again. Finally he went. A full second later there was a terrific crash followed by a deafening roar. Then you should have heard his wife shriek for him. She even bawled him out for staying away too long.

. . . .

No one denies that food, when available, is being dispensed generously, but distribution anomalies are proving hard to fix. The poor get enough rice but otherwise not a good diet. Some PCAUs are still distributing food gratis, but more and more it's being discouraged in favor of nominal payments. This encourages people to collect their purchase cards, which automatically cancels their free rations, but no one kicks because the prices are low. On the whole, the people are grateful if a bit disorderly when lining up. As one guy quipped: "What we need here is two or three Japs to keep order."

Back from four tours as a guerrillero, I met Gabby Hernandez at Santo Tomas. He was stationed in the mountains North of Manila, tasked with setting up booby traps for the Japanese. He had a hard time — his first month's diet was rice and salt before they got some rations. Happy to be back? No, he's disgusted because of too much guerilla racketeering and profiteering.

One of the MPs on duty in our garden is a congenial and talkative blond chap. Says he: "We were greeted at Lingayen by kids all yelling: 'Victory Joe, give me a cigarette' or 'Victory Joe, give me some candy.'" That's still the case everywhere you go today.

...ooOoo...