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Thursday, October 22, 2009

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He knows every step of the way

A LOOK BACK AT THE BRUTAL BATAAN DEATH MARCH

By MIKE O'ROURKE

Associate Editor

The Bataan Death March was nearly 70 years ago but the memories are still all too vivid for survivor Walt Straka.

"I could write a book two inches thick with just the atrocities I saw," the longtime Brainerd resident said of the brutal journey that followed the U.S. surrender to Japanese forces in the Philippines.

Greatly outnumbered by their Japanese counterparts, members of Brainerd's 194th Tank Battalion and other U.S. forces fought the Japanese for four months with insufficient equipment at the outset of World War ll. The U.S. and Philippines soldiers bought precious time for U.S. military forces that had suffered a devastating blow at Pearl Harbor.

"We did what we could do," Straka recalled of the 15,000 U.S. soldiers who were complemented by 50,000 Philippines soldiers. "They (the Japanese) had 200,000 troops in Bataan. We held them off good."

Walt Straka, a survivor of the infamous Bataan Death March, relaxed at his south Brainerd home recently as he talked about the three commemorative kilometer markers that were set along that route to note the sacrifices of Brainerd's 194th Battalion and support staff. Brainerd Dispatch/Steve Kohls
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Ordered to surrender on April 9, 1942, the U.S. soldiers were subjected to a brutal march in blistering heat with little or no food. Of the 61 members of the 194th Tank Battalion who went to the Philippines, less than half of that number returned to Brainerd after the war.

The south Brainerd resident has less than fond memories of Gen. Douglas MacArthur, who he said failed to get food supplies to U.S. troops and was busy pinning medals on his staff while fighting was going on.

"He was an egotistical SOB," Straka said.

Straka, who turns 90 on Saturday, recalled battalion members who considered fleeing into the jungle or seeking the aid of Philippines citizens who were loyal to the allies' cause. More than 6 feet tall, Straka knew there was no way he could blend in with the Philippines citizenry. Most of the soldiers, Straka said, heeded the advice of their commander, Col. Ernie B. Miller, who figured "the more of us who stuck together, the more of us would go back together."

Precise estimates of the march's length vary, but Straka said he believed it was 70 miles. All accounts of the death march speak to its barbarity.

"It wasn't the length of the march," Straka said. "It was the conditions. A cup of rice, twice a day. If you saw a sliver of salmon you were lucky."

Straka's sympathy went out to the U.S. soldiers who were injured from the fighting with the Japanese. Some of them had lost legs and were suffering from the onset of gangrene.

By World War II's final days Straka was working as a POW in a steel mill in Kokura, Japan. The defeat of Japan came after the U.S. dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. News of the surrender was almost too much for the war-weary Straka to comprehend.

"I was kind of numb," he said. "I couldn't believe it. I lie down for two hours. I couldn't hardly fathom it."

The first leg of the prisoners' journey required them to be shipped out of the devastated city of Nagasaki, so Straka received an up-close look at the ruins left by the atomic bomb. He said the city was leveled flat with the railroad tracks being the only usable utility.

When their ship arrived in Okinawa on their way home, a general showed the former POWs an operational map that had initially targeted Kokura as target for the atomic bomb. He wanted to show them how lucky they had been that plans were changed at the last minute.

Decades later Straka and other former POWs had the chance to meet former President Harry Truman and thanked him for deciding to drop the atomic bombs.

"Truman was a nice guy," he said. "He spent a half-hour with us."

Just this fall, Straka had the opportunity to join other World War II veterans for a tour of the World War II memorial in Washington, D.C. He turned down the opportunity because he had been suffering from dizzy spells and didn't want to be a burden on the other veterans or trip organizers.

Although every prisoner dreamed of returning home the reality wasn't as easy as they might have imagined. The Brainerd community had been devastated by the loss of so many of its young men. There were some parents of soldiers who died in the Philippines who would break down in tears when they met Straka.

When he returned to the U.S. skeptics would quiz him if the march was as horrific as it had been portrayed in reports.

"I just look at them and say 'Why don't you ask the parents of the guys who didn't make it back?'" Straka said. "I weighed 89 pounds when they picked me up."

Many of the Bataan veterans were plagued with health problems for decades, Straka said. He said several of the former POWs probably suffered from post-traumatic stress syndrome before the term was ever invented. Still, Straka realized he was fortunate to be able to return to Brainerd, raise a family and live a normal life.

"We lost some pretty decent guys," he recalled.

MIKE O'ROURKE may be reached at mike.orourke@brainerddispatch.com or 855-5860.

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