Japanese Occupation Money

I found some samples of some Filipino Japanese Occupation Money in an antique store. It's interesting how the style mimics the US Dollar of the times. After the Japanese took over the Philippines in 1941, they brought hundreds of propaganda experts to "asianize" the population through theater, movies, radio and newspapers. The picture on the right hand side of the note is of the monument to Jose Rizal, a Pinoy patriot. The idea was that the Filipinos would reject western influence and embrace "The Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere." In other words, the United States of Japan, which included every Asian country from China in the north to Indonesia in the south, and ALL of the countries in between.

As inflation grew worse during the war years, the Japanese simply printed more money when they needed it. It became utterly worthless, yet they forced it on the populance. The Filipinos refered to these banknotes as "Mickey Mouse Money."

Easter in Manila 2014

Just a nice picture of my mother-in-law, taken by my nephew, Kong. She in her late 80s and as beautiful as ever. Some of you may already know that she was my inspiration for Imang in The Yellow Bar. We don't have any pictures of her as a child in WW2, but you can click here to see her as a young lady.

Now Available! ARTS DECO

A dark little comedy set in America’s Bicentennial year: Art Silver loves his bimbo actress wife, Kitty, which is why he consents to rent a penthouse apartment in the heart of old Hollywood while their home in the suburbs is being built. Large, glamorous and with a storied history, the place seems to be the perfect spot to for their tenth anniversary party. That is, until Kitty hosts a seance-gone-wrong and inadvertently opens a portal to the netherworld. Now long-dead celebrities are walking the halls. Far from being scary, Art finds that live-in spooks come with some amazing benefits. But is it too much of a good thing? And what's the ghost of JFK doing here with his wife behind closed doors?

Ghosts. Hollywood. 1976. What's not to love?


(And it's only 99 cents!)
NOTE: Contains adult themes. Not too graphic but a very different story from The Yellow Bar. To preview on Amazon, click here.

Sites in the Book: The Manila Cathedral

"Manila Cathedral was gone. There was nothing but a few columns and a huge pile of rubble left."

Click to see larger image.

The current Cathedral, in the old walled Spanish quarter of Intramuros, is in its 8th reincarnation. The church has a long, sad history of being destroyed by fire and earthquakes since it was first built as a bamboo and wood structure in 1571 by Padre Juan de Vivero. The 7th version, which you see in the left photo was completed in 1879.

During the war years, the gardens around the church were dug up to make air-raid shelters. In February 1945, while the Battle of Manila was raging, the Japanese rounded up a group of eighty men ( including 37 Spanish priests) and crammed them into one of the shelters. Then they were buried alive with large stones and gasoline barrels full of earth. The Japanese amused themselves by shooting or tossing hand-grenades into any air-holes they found. Only a hand-full of these men managed to dig their way out, four days later, and survive. One can only imagine the horror they lived through.

Today, the Cathedral is remains the main seat of The Roman Catholic Church in the Philippines. However, the Cathedral is now closed to the public as it is undergoing extensive earthquake strengthening renovation. Hopefully it will reopen sometime in 2014.

Sites in the Book: Fort Santiago

"By late morning he still hadn't shown up. This was not him, something was wrong."

Fort Santiago is one of the best maintained parks in Manila- and so it should be. The city started here, possibly dating all the way to prehistoric times, on the banks of the Pasig River. When the Spanish first arrived in the 1500s, the site was the wooden fort of Rajah Sulaiman at the mouth of the Pasig River. Much like their Conquistador brothers in South America, they made war on the natives, destroyed the fort, and started building their own triangular stone bastion in the 1590s. It would later grow and merge into the original Spanish city of Intramuros.

So much history has happened within its stone walls: Pirates, plagues and foreign invasions. It was the starting point of the Manila Galleon trade. It was a prison and a military barracks. Philippine National Hero, Jose Rizal, was imprisoned here before his execution. 

In 1941, Fort Santiago was the headquarters for the US Army. After the fall of Manila and the occupation by the Japanese, the fort became a dreadful prison and intelligence center, where hundreds (possibly thousands) of Filipinos were sent for interrogation and detention in to the medieval dungeons below. During the war years, the mere mention of of being sent there was enough to make a suspected Allied collaborator wet his pants: the stories of sadistic torture, amputation, starvation and other brutal conditions were all true.

After its liberation during the Battle of Manila in 1945, the bodies of over 600 Filipinos civilians were found crammed on top of each other in the small stone dungeons, locked behind thick wooden, iron-framed doors. It was determined that they had either died of starvation and/or suffocation. Another horrible war crime that adds to the ghosts that must surely walk the grounds of Fort Santiago. God bless them.

Nephew Kong touches history.

Yet today, a typical unaware tourist would never suspect its bloody history. The Fort is now a national park and has been well renovated in recent years. The grounds have been landscaped into gardens; you will see Pinoy families having picnics there. The stone walls have (mostly) been repaired. Happy, plastic statues of historic figures (including American General MacArthur) recline in realistic poses on benches and light poles. A few of the former military barracks remain on the sides as picturesque ruins, with authentic World War Two bullet holes still in their walls. There is even a welcome center. 

But for those of you who want to feel Fort Santiago’s history, take my little tip: Walk all the way to the back, to the river’s edge. The stones get mossier and more broken. The vegetation gets wilder on the edge of the timeless Pasig River. You will see stone steps that lead into the dungeons. You won’t be able to go inside. You don’t need to. Just stand by the entrance silently and feel the humid heat and smell coming from below. There is nothing Disney-like about this experience- it is funky. It is 1590s, 1690s, 1790s, 1890s...

Now imagine spending an hour in that dungeon. A day. A week. A lifetime. Did a shiver just go up your spine? Good. Now you understand what history really is.

Click on photos to see larger size.

My Unexpected Birthday Trip to Singapore

As an American, living in Indonesia is a lot of fun, but there are a few annoyances. The biggest one is the government Immigration department. The rules are always changing, seemingly for no other reason than to confuse all of the participants involved. Therefore, companies that hire foreigners usually have to contract a local immigration liaison to keep up with these changes.

One of the requirements is that a foreigner must leave the country to reapply for his or her work permit. This is a yearly pain-in-the-butt. The closest country is Singapore, and that’s where most of us go. It can be a fun trip if you have the time, or a trip from hell if you have none. My visa was coming to an end on March 31, and I was expecting the fun trip.

Then my boss called.

“It’s Easter at the end of the month and all the airline-tickets are sold out. You have to go to Singapore NOW!”

“I can’t go now. I have to teach.”

“Then go on Thursday. Your day off. But you have to come back the same day. I don’t have anyone to replace you on Friday.”

Don’t you just love bosses?

To make a long story short, here is what I did yesterday:

Got up at 2:30 AM. Put a camera, umbrella and iPad into my backpack and walked out the door. Went to the alley shortcut to get to the street where the taxis are. It was locked up. Walked the long way (real long, about 15 minutes) to the main street. I’m standing on the corner in the dark when a man in a van drives slowly by and stops.

“Hey mister, where you go?”

“To the airport.”

“You come. I take you.” He looked at me, smiling hungrily.

“No thank you. I’ll take a taxi.”

“You come! You come! I take you airport!”

My imagination tells me that he’s an axe murderer. He really wants me to hop in. He wants it too much. The vehicle has no side windows. It’s scary and I walk away. But he follows me slowly in the murder van, blocking my view of the taxis that are zooming by.

“You come in! We go airport!”

I wonder what will make the best weapon: the camera, the umbrella or the iPad? Just as I’m deciding to use the entire backpack as a club, a Bluebird Taxi pulls over.

“Taxi!”

Scary man looks outraged and peels off. I hop into the cab.

“Where to?” asks the driver.

“To the airport. Take the toll-road.”

3:30 AM. The toll-road is dark blue and empty. To the average Indonesian, an empty road is a signal to step-on-the-gas, an invitation to go as fast as possible. But my driver wants to go one better; he wants to break the sound barrier. I will need no coffee this morning. I am wide eyed awake, praying that the wheels don’t fly off, as we thunder down the road at warp-speed towards Sukarno-Hatta International Airport.

And then I remember: today is my birthday! This revelation calms me down. I mean, how many people die on their birthdays, right? Besides, if I did have that misfortune, at least it would be symmetrical. My life would be neatly tied up in a memorable package. A poetic demise.

I didn’t even tell the driver to slow down.

Singapore via Lion Air. It’s a new plane but I don’t quite trust it because of the logo: an orange/red lion’s head with a crown on it. It looks like it was designed by 5th grader. Plus, they really squeeze the seats together, to cram in as many passengers as possible. My knees are pressed against the front seat for the entire 90 minute flight. But I have a window seat on a clear morning. We fly over the jungles of Sumatra and skip over the Malaccas Straight. Below are giant working ships from all over the world; oil tankers and freighters. Singapore comes into view; its apartment towers ring the shoreline like the walls of a castle.

I called our fixer, Mr. Raoul* as soon as I passed customs. He told me to meet him at the outside courtyard of the McDonalds on Orchid Road. When I got there, I found this man surrounded by other visa clients from all over the world. You see, the Indonesian immigration office requires all applicants to wait a few days for a visa. However, money changes everything, and if you pay a little extra to a Raou, you can have your visa by late afternoon. I don’t like this system; it has the feeling of a drug deal. It makes me feel sleazy. Indeed, it certainly looks sleazy- a large Indian man with a picnic table full of passports, papers and dollars. I give him my stuff and he tells me to meet him back here at 4:30 PM.

It is now 9:30 in the morning and I have no idea what to do. Being alone in a city where you know no one, makes you feel like a ghost. I float down the wide sidewalk of Orchard Road past the tall shopping malls, electronic billboards and tall shady trees. High-end clothing and electronic brands fill the shop windows. The place is spotless; even the pedestrians dress better than in other cities. There is nothing I want, other than to eat.

I spot a hawker stand, which is a patio type food garden featuring exotic foods. What to eat for breakfast? Noodles with pork dumplings fits the bill, along with that cup of coffee that I never had. The noodles are excellent and gone in minutes. I sit there content and nurse my coffee.

Then a pigeon shits on me.

It hits my hand and the coffee a mere six inches from my face, just as I was about to sip. There is no tissue paper, so I go back to the counter and ask for some.

“Oh, that happens all the time,” says the smiling counter girl. She gives me a wad of tissue and a new coffee. Singaporeans are nice.

When I get back to my table, I notice that my cell phone is buzzing. I check and see I’ve got over a dozen messages.

Oh yeah, it’s my birthday! Everyone is greeting me! I can feel the love! Now I have something to do! I’ll spend some time writing witty replies!

I send the first one to my good friend Lily.

Beep.

Uh-oh, the message didn’t go through. Try again.

Beep.

Hmm, I’ll just call her. I dial the number and get a voice recording in broken Indonesian English:

“We’re sorry, you are not allowed to make international calls with this number.”

Like HELL I’m not! I’ve been using this number for ten years to call from abroad! The service is called Matrix, and it’s bloody expensive but I have been paying it for the very reason that I can make calls from abroad. How dare you not work!

I became filled with Matrix-hate. The coffee soured in my belly as I sent tons of evil thoughts to the Matrix office via my mind. (May this tidal wave of bad karma one day explode their building into a zillion pieces.)

So what’s a ghost in the city to do? It was starting to get frickin’ hot. I couldn’t walk down the sidewalk all day.

Then a double-decker city tour bus drove by. Its sign said:

EXPERIENCE SINGAPORE FOR ONLY 18 DOLLARS!

Why not? I had never tried that before. I paid, got on, and cruised in air conditioned comfort. The best thing about it was that the pass was good for all day. You could stop at any one of the attractions and get back on again at no extra charge. Bliss!

I took the tour 3 times.

The first time, I sat on the left of the bus. The second time, the right. On the third, I got brave and actually got out of the bus to visit some attractions. I saw the giant ferris wheel, the art museum, little India, and the wild new casino towers which have something that looks like a giant surf board on top. Mind you, I never actually entered any of these attractions; I just loitered like a bum and took pictures until the next bus came by. I did give the Botanical Gardens a try for about 15 minutes, but who wants to sweat in a humid rainforest when it’s 1000 degrees outside?

A revelation of sorts hit me on that third tour; Southeast Asia is exploding with economic growth right now. Singapore is building and reshaping itself into the city of the future. It is Star Trek come to life. I see the same things happening in Jakarta and Manila. Futuristic, gravity-defying towers are growing into the sky. Blossoming like flowers overnight. Enormous wealth is starting to be seen. A rapidly growing middle class is rising and buying. Their children are smart, ambitious and aggressive. New Asian art forms are being born. There seems to be no bounds to the speed and experimentation of this new age. And unlike America and Europe: There is no fear.

I am not jealous, but it makes me want to run back home. Not to Jakarta, but to Jacksonville, Florida, where nothing changes. But that is just me. For you fearless souls out there, look east and maybe join them in this brave new world.

It is their hour.

Oh, and I got back to Jakarta at 10 PM. The plane was late. Some things will never change.


*Name changed to protect the guilty. Click on photos to see larger image.

A short 1930s film: Manila, Queen of the Pacific

Old American Manila, Philippines. Most notable are the neat clothes that everyone was wearing. (Get a load of those ladies wearing Ternos!) Also, views of old neighborhoods and buildings that no longer exist due to being destroyed in World War Two.

Sites from the Book: Manila Carnivals: 1908 to 1939

"In 1935, Pinky decided that she wanted to be Carnival Queen."

One of the things that the Americans colonists were good at: Public Relations. Within 10 years of winning the islands of the Philippines from the Spanish, they started an annual Manila Carnival that was somewhat based on a typical American State Fair. It featured the best of Agriculture, Industry, and Business. It had rides and games and exhibitions. And of course, lots of competitions, including the selection of the Carnival Queen.

This was a big deal. Young ladies from all over the Islands came to compete for the crown. Tears were shed, hearts (and wallets) were broken.

But better you get that story from the brilliant website of Alex. R. Castro: Manila Carnivals, where you will be drawn in to a whole world that is now gone-with-the-wind. This site is huge and you can spend days reading the well researched articles and viewing rare photographs. You can almost smell the popcorn.

I came upon this site while doing research for The Yellow Bar. This is where I got the first idea of the character Auntie Pinky, and who she really was. My Pinky would make it to the Carnival, but not as a beauty queen; the real winner that year was Conchita Sunico, who is mentioned in the book, and is on the second photo on the left.

Today in the Philippines, beauty and talent contests are part of its culture. In fact, it borders on obsession- from the small barrio fiesta queens to the oh-so-important Miss Philippines pageant. (I have personally witnessed everything from Best Baby to Best Female Impersonator.) I wonder if it all started with the Manila Carnivals?

Thank you Alex (and Ms Sunico) for the inspiration!

Photos courtesy of Alex R. Castro.

Sites in the Book: San Augustin Church

"You don't happen to know Ave Maria, do you?" 

Click photo to see large version.

If walls could talk, then I would press my ear against the San Augustin Church. It is one of Manila's oldest structures, and still stands relatively intact since it was built in 1586. With its history, this is nothing short of a miracle. 

Take a look at the photo on the left. See the little red circle? What you see is the only building left standing in the destroyed walled-city of Intramuros: San Augustin. All the other buildings (including the Manila Cathedral and 5 other churches) were pulverized into dust during the Battle of Manila. 

But that's just part of the story. The site was consecrated as a house of worship in the 1570s. This was the time of Spanish conquistadors, whom strutted around wearing iron armor in the tropical heat. Manila wasn't much more than a wooden fort on the bay, and most of the invaders spent their time searching for gold, or converting the native Filipinos into Catholicism. Business was good; they decided to stay. Entombed in the church are some of the city's founders: Miguel López de Legazpi, Juan de Salcedo and Martín de Goiti. They lie here still in Baroque splendor.

 

San Augustin has witnessed and survived Chinese pirates, looting by the British in 1762, earthquakes, floods, riots, fires, assorted plagues, and the Spanish-American War in 1898. (The peace treaty was signed here.) But its real trial-by-fire came during World War Two.

18 February 1945: Most of the Japanese Army has retreated into the walled-city. They are surrounded by the American Army, whose high powered shells are ripping into Intramuros. Homes, schools, hospitals- everything is exploding and crumbling to dust. The Japanese are killing any civilian they see: men, women, children, infants. Not satisfied, they enter churches and hospitals, massacring everyone in sight. They come to San Augustin Church, where many people have taken refuge, and round up some 125 men, including 37 priests. They are marched a few blocks to the front of Manila Cathedral. There, they are forced into underground air-raid bunkers and buried alive. Only six would survive.

Somehow, (by God or Good Luck) San Augustin remained standing. Even the magnificent trompe l’oeil has ceiling survived. The church still functions today, and is the place to go for a big, fat, Filipino wedding. If you’re ever in Manila, come take a look at this jewel of a Baroque church and the adjacent museum. And remember, you are on sacred ground.

B/W photos courtesy of John T. Pilot.

Retro Filipino: Pinoy Kollector

Not all of the great sites will pop up on the first page of a Google search. Sometimes you have to dig for it. In my continuing research for The Yellow Bar, I have run across a few pages that deserve to be seen. One of them is the Pinoy Kollector blog by a nice fellow named Edward. He has a fascinating photo album of his Philippine memorabilia collection. It's a delicious hodgepodge of antique post cards, photos, movie stills, cigarette advertising, coins and paper money, toys, games and all sorts of Filipino pop culture items from the last century.

The young lady on the left is one of a whole bevy of Filipina beauties on postcards that he is featuring this month on his site. You'll have to see them to believe them! Enjoy.

Click here:  Pinoy Kollector

Sites in the Book: Malate Church

"Auntie," I said, "Get ready to run."

A mere twenty steps away from the the Aristocrat Restaurant is a small park that borders the Malate Church. This baroque-style church and open area have enjoyed the same view of Manila Bay since the sixteenth century, when it was built by the Augustinian friars. The Malate district was originally a small fishing village, but as the years passed it was swallowed up by the city of Manila. At the time of the Japanese invasion, the area was a very fashionable suburb, consisting of Filipino elites, American colonists and even some old pensioners from the Spanish days. Imagine tree-lined streets, gardens and fashionable mansions. 

Malate Church 1930s

In the 1940s, the parish was run by Irish priests and the church services were in English. These priests (who, like most chaplains were not interned by the Japanese) were instrumental in helping the imprisoned foreign nationals in Bilibid and Santo Tomas prison camps, providing food, medicine, news, and of course, spiritual guidance. 

Horrible things happened here in February 1945. The Malate district was caught between the battling Americans and Japanese. (Now imagine this beautiful neighborhood being bombarded from both sides: burning houses, trees with their leaves blown off, and screaming, panicked families searching for safety...) Many residents fled to the Malate Church, hoping for sanctuary.  They would not find any.  Periodically, the Japanese would enter the church, round up all the males in the square, and take them all away, never to be seen again. This included the Irish priests, who are believed to have been bayonetted to death along with the others. 

Malate Church and it’s neighborhood were hammered by the Battle of Manila. The church caught fire and burned down. However, the original walls survived, and it was reconstructed in the 1950s. It is hard to imagine the original Malate district these days; most of the area is now filled with business buildings, bars and high rises. But if you poke around its streets, you’ll still find some old and elegant suburban houses from days gone by.

Click on photos to see larger size. B/W photos courtesy of John T. Pilot.

Happy 85th Birthday, Nanay!

Maxima Reynaldo, my mother-in-law and the inspiration for the character of "Imang" in The Yellow Bar, turned 85 this week. She has accepted her birthday with her usual quiet dignity and grace. (It was our family that made such a fuss. I'm sure she would have been happier if we'd just let her play Mahjong with her friends as usual.)

Happy Birthday Maxima! You are a hero in so many ways. No book could do you justice.

Color Photos by Kong Reynaldo.

Retro Filipino Breakfast!

Pork alert. I just got back from a whirlwind trip to Manila to see family and to photograph historical sites from The Yellow Bar. On one lucky morning, me and my nephew, Kong Reynaldo, stopped by the Aristocrat Restaurant for breakfast. I do not know who owns this diner, but I'm going to do a 5 star review for them just the same.

I ordered the Longanisa plate. This is the best breakfast in the Philippines. Period. Here's what's it is: Two (2) perfect eggs, garlic rice, coffee and two (2) Longanisa sausages. If you have never eaten a Longanisa sausage; it is the sweet and flavorful pork sausage of the gods. There are many varieties of Longanisa in the Philippines, but the ones at this restaurant are masterpieces. Delicately charred and seasoned with sage– it will send you to heaven. Served with a vinegar dip to take the edge off all the fat you're consuming. (On the left is a picture I took after the second bite. It demanded to be preserved for history!)

The Aristocrat has been there since 1936. It is spacious, comfortable, and spotlessly clean. A family diner, nothing fancy, but much better than any over-priced 5 star hotel.

If you're in town, you must go there: 432 San Andres Street, Malate, Manila. (Located a few steps from historic Malate Church.) Take Roxas Blvd. Easy parking. Get a window seat so you can view Manila Bay.

Sites in the Book: 1940s Filipino Country Homes

"In 1939 we built a big family house..."

The original Reynaldo home that they (and the Japanese) lived in during World War Two is long gone. There are no known photos of it. I remember from my father-in-law Felipe's stories that it was two stories tall, with a cement first floor and a wooden second floor. This picture that you see on the top left, was a typical home of a well-to-do country family in the 1940s, and it was the image that I used to imagine as the Reynaldo farm in The Yellow Bar. 

In the olden days, a house like this would have window panes made of capiz (oyster) shells. It was cheaper than glass, and still let the light in. The wood used in a house of this type would usually be a mixture of coconut and/or narra, which is Philippine mahogany. It had high ceilings and wide open windows to keep the house cool. The roof was made of zinc or tin, which was considered very modern and leak proof. The only problem was that in a heavy rain, it was very noisy; the roof reverberated like a drum at a rock concert. Some homes used used spanish tile.

Back then, the majority of country folk in the Philippines lived in Bahay Cubo, also know as Nipa Huts. These were made of bamboo, rattan, planks and nipa grass. (And whatever else was around.) They were usually elevated on stilts, and in a land where earthquakes, typhoons and floods are a constant, these houses are ideal for their climate and are easy to repair.

Houses such as these are still ubiquitous in rural  southeast Asia: Philippines, Indonesia, Thailand, Vietnam and Malaysia. I have stayed in a few of them over the years and have found them surprisingly comfortable and hygienic (apart from the occasional lizard that falls from the ceiling.) Plus, there is nothing quite as comfortable as walking bare-foot on a split bamboo rail floor.

Nowadays, the modern asian family prefers a cement house with air conditioning. Ceilings are lower and windows are smaller. God help them if the electricity ever goes out.

Note: As the title says, these are country homes, like the one ones situated in The Yellow Bar. In contrast, 1940s Manila was one of the most modern and historic cities in Asia. There, the architecture varied from from Spanish Adobe to Art Moderne apartment buildings to American suburban. I will be posting more pictures of these remarkable building in the near future.

B/W photos courtesy of John T. Pilot. Click on image to see larger version.

The Yellow Bar is based on a true story

The Yellow Bar is a work of fiction, but the main story line is based upon true stories my father in-law, Felipe Reynaldo, told me in the 1980s about how he and his family survived World War 2.

Here's the true part:

Felipe's family had the biggest house in Culi-Culi due to the successful notions and home goods store that they had. During the World War Two occupation, the Reynaldo's were kicked out of their home and forced to become servants in their own house for the Japanese pilots. As the war years went on, these pilots would become kamakazi. Felipe (Pepot) was just a child at the time. He told me how the pilots lived, celebrated, and ultimately went to their deaths.

After the horrific Battle of Manila and the return of the Americans, a relative began selling homemade booze (lombanog) to the American GIs and the Yellow Bar was born. The bar ended up being the most popular bar for visiting servicemen in Manila for over 30 years. (The stories he told me about the Americans at the Yellow Bar after the war could make up of book of its own, and may be my sequal one day.) By the time I met and married my wife, Leonor, in the 1980s, the Yellow Bar was long closed and had been converted into the local wet market, but it's art deco entrance still remained– loose chickens, cats and dogs dodged in and out its door. It was intriguing. It deserved a story.

I decided to approach the novel though 10 year old Pepot's eyes- a simple story of how a family survives World War Two. Although it is set in 1940s Philippines, I didn't want it to be an exotic travelog about the wonders of that island nation. (Let a future James Michener write that.) No, it needed to be easy to relate to. Therefore you will find very few Tagalog words and references to quaint social customs, such as balut. The Reynaldo's story could have happened anywhere, to any family.

Manila: 27 February 1945.

B/W photo courtesy of John T. Pilot.

Grandpa, what did K-rations taste like?

Well grandson, they tasted like Spam and crackers for the most part. Sometimes there was a hard slice of fruitcake. Chocolate bites. Chewing gum. Instant coffee, instant bouillon soup and fruit flavored drink powder. And they always came with 4 Chesterfield cigarettes and a pack of matches... maybe to take the taste away.

In the 1940s, K-rations were the portable foods that the American soldiers carried with them into combat. They weren't designed to be delicious, or even particularly healthy. The Army was more concerned with giving its soldiers the energy to keep fighting. And it had to be light enough to carry up mountains or hiking through jungles. The K-rations came in 3 different servings: breakfast, lunch (supper) and dinner. But most soldiers couldn't tell the difference.

K-rations were produced by the Cracker Jacks Company and used a waxed paper box about the same size as their popcorn product. It was small enough to fit in a soldier's uniform pockets. The American soldiers quickly grew tired (even physically sick) of these ready-to-eat meals; whenever they liberated a town, (be it Paris or Manila) it was usually the first thing that they gave away to the malnourished natives.

And when you're starving, K-rations are the best tasting meals on earth.

Click on photos to see K-rations in all their glory.

On Writing Your First Novel: Part 2

So how did I write The Yellow Bar?

Just like everybody else– I sat down and stared anxiously at a blank screen for a few hours. Had a beer. Put it off until the next day. The next week. The next few years...

Until I had a great opening line: “I was sitting naked on my carabao.” That got me started.

I think the hardest thing for any would-be author is the commitment you have to make. After a few hours of writing, you realize that your novel isn’t going to write itself and you are not Lois Lane. It takes a lot of brain power, a lot of hours, and a lot of false starts.

I outlined the plot with pencil and paper. This was mentioned in part one. Although I didn’t know exactly where I was going in the writing process, I had a general idea of the beginning, the middle and the end.

Get into the mood. Writing a novel involves a lot of day dreaming. If the idea for your book is strong, the dreaming will come naturally. I started to envision my characters as real people. (What would Pinky do?) However, I must warn you that if you day dream in public, and stare into space like I do, people will think you’re on drugs or about to go postal.

I made a place and a schedule to write in. I work hard as a teacher. Sometimes those kids knock the stuffings out of me. I would use this as a excuse not to write. What I did was put it into my daily activity. Instead of going directly home from work, I would stop at an obscure, quiet coffee shop next to a supermarket. Something clicked, because page after page started to flow for that magic hour or two of caffeine bliss. It became something to look forward to at the end of my day.

I made myself comfortable. The Yellow Bar started on my desktop. It felt like an office assignment. My laptop was long gone. All I had was an iPad, so that’s what I used for most of the original writing in the book. I can’t recommend this to perfectionists (or touch typists) because the virtual keys can be a bitch sometimes. However, it flowed for me. What I learned to ignore all the typos and type, type, type away. It was an easy matter to transfer to my desktop and correct later.

I didn't read any popular novels during this time. I was afraid of being intimidated, or worse– copying someone else's technique. I DID read Mark Twain stories. His stuff seemed safe enough since it's 150 years old.

The book I referred to the most: The Elements of Style by Strunk and White. I'm an English teacher and even I get confused with grammar rules at times. It is the author's Bible and best friend. I highly recommend all first time authors keep this small book at hand, at all times.

Music helps. I found an obscure radio channel on-line that specializes in 1940s swing tunes. (AddictedToRadio.com: Big Band Cantina) It gave me a great feel for the era that I was writing in. I also listened to just about everything: from Classical Mozart to Eminem hip hop. Again, music helps you get into the mood.

Be prepared to be lonely. I cannot write with other people interrupting or looking over my shoulder. Hence the coffee shop. I also occasionally lied to friends about not joining them on the weekends, so I could keep on writing. Most of them have forgiven me by now.

Ignore your deadline. I originally thought I’d have The Yellow Bar done in six months. Ha! It took me a year and a half. Again, schedule your writing times, not your ending.

Enjoy it, and ignore your page count. I started The Yellow Bar as a scared, trembling, little flower. At about page 50, I knew I had something. By page 100 I was so excited that page 200 flew by without me knowing it. Let the story come out the way it should; don’t force it, don’t time it, don’t count it. It’ll work.

NEXT: In Part 3 You will learn about all the stupid mistakes I made PLUS the long and strange road called the editing process.

Another Yellow Bar Review

Excuse me for tooting my own horn, but I got another review of The Yellow Bar from a nice lady named Cindy. Thank you, kind stranger!

The Yellow Bar/John Falch A+. Finding out about this book was a fluke. I was perusing Facebook and saw a post from Tim Hallinan urging readers to read about a new author he found and I was hooked. The book was a $2.99 find for the kindle and worth every penny and more. It's a saga-like story set at the brink of World War II in a small village of Culi-Culi near Manila in the Philippines. The story is told from three points of view, mostly that of little Pepot Reynoldo, the youngest boy in the family; an American 'lavender' (gay) hotel manager, Eric Lawson and little orphan girl name Imang who was rounded up by the Japanese military once the war had started to work in a sweat shop in Manila. Most of the story is about the far reaching Reynaldo family which includes Pinky Del Rosario, a torch singer and her husband Romeo. They live and work in Manila, where her sister's family is on the farm in Culi-Culi. The story is about the creativity, bravery, resourcefulness, family love and respect that get them through the hard times ahead until the island of Luzon is liberated by the Americans.
Most likely this will be one of my top ten reads of the year.

Sites in the Book: Intramuros, the Walled City

The Spanish capital of Manila was born in 1571, by decree of Miguel López de Legazpi. By the 1590s, the first walls of Intramuros (Latin for inner city) began to go up and work continued sporadically until the late 1800s. With walls up to 40 feet thick, on 160 acres on the shores of Manila Bay, the walled city reflected Spain's glory days of exploration and power. Other similar structures from that era can be found in St. Augustine, Florida and San Juan, Puerto Rico, but I think none matched the scale and sublime beauty of Intramuros. As stone-walled forts became impractical (and useless) when military artillery became more powerful, the city began its second life as the cultural cradle of Spain: palaces, government offices and elite homes were built. Schools, universities, and grand baroque churches, including the Manila Cathedral, stood there.

When the Americans took over in 1898, things changed quickly. Land reclamation projects on the bay land-locked the old city, and its surrounding mosquito filled moats were filled in the create a golf course, giving it a park-like appearance. (The picture on the top left gives you a bird's eye view of what it looked like in the 1930s.) As you can see, the Americans went on to create a new Manila– one that looked a bit like Washington, DC.

Enter World War Two and one of the most horrific events of the war. As the month-long Battle of Manila drew to a close, the Japanese holed up behind the walls of Intramuros and refused to surrender. They began slaughtering the native residents of Intramuros: civilian men, women, children, priests and nuns. At 7:30 AM on 23 February 1945, the American Army let loose with everything they had, bombarding Intramuros for exactly an hour, blasting 350 years of art, history and culture into rubble. (Including the Filipinos trapped inside.) Not much was left after it was over. Intramuros looked like a smashed sand castle.

It sat there for years, avoided, neglected and feared for its ghosts. Once again it was First Lady Imelda Marcos who spear-headed a restoration effort who got the blasted walls rebuilt. The work continues oh-so-slowly up to today.

I lived in Manila in the late 1980s, and one of my favorite things to do was walk around in the remains of Intramuros when I was in that part of town. These lonely walks, where I first became aware of what actually happened in World War Two, would later give me the inspiration to write The Yellow Bar.
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The Manila Cathedral had been rebuilt, but that was about all. (With the exception of a tall. ugly 1960s newspaper tower, destroying the sense of scale and history.) In the 80s, it was only safe to go there in the daylight hours, because the ruin of Intramuros was where the homeless and destitute lived. Stray dogs, beggars, burning garbage and weeds owned the site. It was spooky. It still is.

The two color photos are from 2007. Even now, (though a bit cleaner) most of the old walled city is still in ruin and neglect. The main reasons for this is political infighting and budget constraints. However, more and more Filipinos are starting to realize what a neglected treasure it is. Hopefully, this movement will provide the political will to restore the grand dame Intramuros. Or at least give back some of its dignity.



Click on any picture to see a larger image.
B/W photos courtesy of John T. Pilot.