The Army seemed to agree that Fort Lincoln was no longer a suitable place for
a young 23-year old widower. They were in the process of finding a new
assignment for me when I suddenly relieved them of this responsibility by
volunteering for flight training at Randolph Field, just outside San Antonio,
Texas. I started my flight training in a class of eight other Army officers,
some of them quite senior. It should be remembered that there was no U.S. Air
Force then. The fliers were all members of the U.S. Army Air Corp. In those
days, long before the advent of World War II, the art of flight instruction was
pretty primitive. We flew little dual control two-seaters called PT (Primary
Trainer) twos and threes with an instructor sitting in front and the student
directly behind him or vice versa. I think the PT Two was a biplane and the PT
Three was a monoplane. We always wore parachutes. The instructor would simply
say, "Now, I'm going to do this (take-off, landing, lazy eight, Immelman,
spin, etc.)" and then he'd say, "Now you try it," after which he
would say, "That was passable" or "That was lousy." That was
the extent of the instruction. After having learned some of the basic
fundamentals and after having several hours of solo flight, I ground looped one
day on landing and tore a wing loose from the plane. Shortly thereafter, it was
decided that I lacked "inherent flying ability" and I was "washed
out," as were all the eight other members of my class. It was probably just
as well. I never did have the feeling that I was a natural born flyer.
My next station after Randolph Field was Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, where there
were two companies of the 17th Infantry and a battalion headquarters. These two
companies followed the normal peace time training schedule of close order drill,
marksmanship, field marches, small unit maneuvers, etc. In addition - and this
was the primary purpose in having them at Fort Leavenworth - they were
especially trained in prison riot control in the event of a riot at either the
adjacent large Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary or the military penitentiary on
the Post. It was a very interesting and even pleasant two-year tour of duty for
a young lieutenant.
Fort Leavenworth had almost every conceivable sport facility as well as
vigorously supported social and cultural programs. It was a far cry from Fort
Lincoln. I had been rather good at horsemanship at West Point and had continued
to ride frequently during my tour at Fort Lincoln. It was only natural that I
joined the Hunt Club shortly after my arrival at Fort Leavenworth. We rode to
hounds, chasing the "fox" over hill and dale almost every Sunday
morning. The hunts were usually followed by either a hunt breakfast or a hunt
brunch.
One day I took a telephone call from the Chief of Staff. He said the Commanding
General had requested (ordered) me and the only other Second Lieutenant on the
Post to start polo training. The other Second Lieutenant was Dwight Beach, aide
to the General and a West Point classmate of mine. I should explain that the
reason for this rather unusual request or order had to do with the fact that
Fort Leavenworth was the home of the Command and General Staff College of the
Army. The students were mostly field officers (major and above) and the course
at that time lasted two years (later reduced to one year). The curriculum was
considered by many to be quite grueling and graduation was a necessity for those
who aspired to high command in the Army. Several years later, I spent a year
there as a student and three years as a member of the faculty. But to return to
the subject of polo, there were always several good polo players in each student
class, but students were somehow reluctant to risk an injury and fail to
graduate. The Fort Leavenworth polo team was therefore primarily made up of
members of the college faculty and of officers of the 10th Cavalry, a detachment
of which was stationed at Fort Leavenworth. The team was short of members.
Hence, the requisition of two Second Lieutenants to fill in the gap, or, to put
it more honestly, to serve as substitutes on this very excellent polo team. The
principal rival team was the U.S. Cavalry team from Fort Riley, Kansas. On these
two teams were some of the best polo players in the world - Peter Rhodes, Wally
Barnes, Peter Haines, Lucian Truscott, George S. Patton, etc., etc.
On the appointed afternoon, Dwight Beach and I drove out to the designated
practice field. There, we saw a barrel-chested middle-aged man sitting astride
his polo pony and beside him a groom from the 10th Cavalry with two other ponies
and the necessary polo equipment for our first lesson. Our instructor introduced
himself as Pete Rhodes and proceeded to drill us in some of the fundamentals of
polo for the next couple of hours. We repeated this procedure almost every day
for the next couple of weeks. On the way home to Dwight's house after that first
lesson, I asked him if he knew anything about our instructor. He said,
"Wait til we get home and I'll tell you." When we arrived at his
house, he went to his bookshelf and pulled out a book - "American
Polo" by Peter Rhodes. I think Peter was rated at seven goals at that time.
He had played for America all over the world, had been presented to the King and
Queen of England, and had had many other honors bestowed on him in the world of
polo. I guess we couldn't have had a better instructor. Neither Dwight nor I
made the "first team" so to speak, but we got to play as substitutes
for a part of almost every match for the next couple of years. We had a lot of
fun and met a lot of interesting people. I think Dwight was eventually
officially rated as a one goal player. He also, incidentally, attained four star
rank in his military career.
They had a very active theater group at Fort Leavenworth and one day -- or more
probably one evening, after a few highballs - someone persuaded me to join it. I
did so against my better judgment, and against all my instincts. But before they
finished with me, I took part in one production - a sort of musical - and played
the lead in a play. I guess it would be an understatement to say that I had
little or no talent for acting.
If, by now, you are getting the impression that during my younger years I tried
many things and excelled at none, you are absolutely correct.
At the end of my two year tour at Fort Leavenworth, in the summer of 1936,
before proceeding to the Infantry School at Fort Benning, Georgia, I took a two
month vacation, partly at the old lake cottage on Lake Pelican, Minnesota, and
partly a drive from Fargo to Los Angeles and back. It was during this vacation
that I married Jeanne Magill of Fargo.
My year as a student at the Infantry School was relatively uneventful. At the
end of the school year, I was ordered to the Presidio of San Francisco, a
beautiful old military post right on the edge of San Francisco and near the
Golden Gate Bridge. Actually, we lived a few blocks off the Post in an apartment
at 2000 Beech Street. It was at the Presidio that my first son, William, was
born on Christmas Eve, 1937.
In late January 1938, when Bill was about five weeks old, we sailed for the
Philippines on one of the old Army transport ships. It was a very rough trip and
Manila was a welcome sight. Even five-week old Bill was a bit sick, which proves
that seasickness is not all in the mind.
Life at Fort McKinley was easy going to say the least for a First Lieutenant in
the U.S. Army. We lived in a large two-story house with three servants - a cook,
a houseboy and an amah, which means a nurse for Bill. Her name was Serapia
Valbuena. Bill called her Nonah. She lived with him day and night for more than
two years. She taught him to walk and to talk, which may have accounted for the
fact that he spoke with a slight Tagalog accent for some time after returning to
the United States in 1940.
Normally, we went to work at 7:30 in the morning and quit for the day at 12:30.
The reason given for this short work day was that the tropical climate was not
conducive to a long work day, especially for Caucasians. No one argued with
this, but soon after our arrival, I thought I might make some points with my
Commanding Officer if I went to work after lunch once in awhile. He caught me at
it one day and literally read the riot act to me, saying that if he ever caught
me working in the afternoon again, it would reflect adversely on my efficiency
report. I took him at his word and played 18 holes of golf every work day
afternoon and 36 holes on Saturdays and Sundays.
After only a few months at Fort McKinley, a vacancy opened up for a First
Lieutenant at Pettit Barracks, Zamboanga on the Island of Mindanao. This is the
southernmost tip of the Philippines down in the Sulu Sea. It sounded great to
me, and despite the comment of my regimental commander that no "true
soldier" would volunteer for this lazy man's paradise post, I volunteered
nevertheless.
Zamboanga was, in many respects, a most unusual and fascinating place. Let me
try to give you a word picture of it.
First of all, much of the large island of Mindanao, of which the Zamboanga
Peninsula and the City of Zamboanga on the extreme southern tip of the island,
is inhabited by Moro tribes. The Moros are colorful in their dress and customs;
they are physically strong and fierce fighters, and they are immensely proud of
their heritage and their religion. Unlike the rest of the Philippine
inhabitants, they are not Christians. They are Mohammedans. This is due in part
to the fact that ethnically they are not the same people as other Filipinos.
They apparently migrated long ago from the Indian sub-continent to the
Philippines, whereas the other Filipinos migrated to the islands from the
northern areas of Asia. The hostility between the Moros and the other Filipinos
at the time I lived there was quite intense. There were periodic bloody
skirmishes between the Moros and the Philippine Constabulary. The Christian
government in Manila has always wanted to impose its authority over the Moros as
well as all the other people of the Philippines, but the Moros have proven very
difficult to dominate. They defied the Spanish authorities for centuries, and
when the Spaniards withdrew, they defied the Americans until a man named
Pershing subdued then in a number of skirmishes and battles between the years
1901 and 1913.
Before and during the time I was there, certain Moro sects had one particular
custom which can only be described as gruesome. It was called "going
jurmentado." I'm not exactly sure of the spelling, but it's pronounced
hurmentado. It may still exist. I don't know for sure, but it certainly took
place in the streets of Zamboanga while I was there. The ceremony is as follows:
One or more young men are bound tightly from head to foot with cloth strips like
wide tape or gauze. They are bound so tightly that the blood circulation
throughout the body is slowed down, so that if their body is pierced by bullets
or other weapons, they will bleed very slowly and can continue on their mission
long after an ordinarily clothed person would have bled to death. The last thing
that is bound is their testicles. They are bound so tightly as to cause
excruciating pain. The young men are then given a Kris which is a long curved,
razor-sharp sword, and started on their mission, usually through the most
crowded market place. Their mission is to kill as many Christians as possible
before they themselves are killed. They believe that every Christian they kill
will be their servant in the Mohammedan heaven. The custom or ceremony is
obviously not a legitimate part of the Moslem faith. It is not even endorsed by
the majority of Moros. It is, as I understand it, only a weird custom of a
certain sect or sects within the Moro population.
REFLEXION: As cruel and barbaric as this custom is, it is no more so than what
Christians/Jews, Mohammedans, Hindus, etc., have done to others and to each
other throughout history and what they continue to do to this day in such places
as Ireland, the Middle East, India and Pakistan.
It might be appropriate at this point to review a bit of history. In 1901, a
young U.S. Army Captain named John J. Pershing was sent to the Philippines as
Adjutant General of the Department of Mindanao and was placed in charge of
"Moro Affairs." As I mentioned before, Pershing did suppress them, at
least temporarily. As a matter of fact, he was so successful in this mission
that Congress, under the urging of President Theodore Roosevelt, promoted him
from Captain to Brigadier General in one jump. After various other assignments
as a Brigadier General, he returned to the Philippines in 1906 and served there
as Commander of the Department of Mindanao and of what was then called Moro
Province until 1914. During this time, trouble again broke out with the Moros,
and Pershing again put down the insurrection. His headquarters were at Pettit
Barracks, Zamboanga. He had a large beautiful home on the sea which still served
as the Post Commander's living quarters when I served there. One rather
interesting incident took place around Lake Lanao, up in the interior of
Mindanao, northeast of Zamboanga. The Moro tribes living around the lake went on
a rampage, killing many Christian Filipinos in that area. Pershing sent word to
the top Moro chieftain that the killing had to stop. The chieftain replied that
when his people went jurmentado, there was nothing he could do to stop them. So
Pershing had a good sized motor boat transported to Lake Lanao where he mounted
machine guns on it. The boat cruised around the shores of the lake firing its
machine guns into each Moro settlement. When the Moro chieftain protested to
Pershing, he replied that when his boat decided to go jurmentado, there was
nothing he could do about it. Strangely enough, the Moro killings around the
Lake Lanao area suddenly stopped. It is also interesting to note that Pershing
did something else to discourage the jurmentado custom. He had the Army develop
what is still the standard Army pistol - the Colt 45 with a soft-nosed bullet.
Whereas the normal rifle or pistol bullet would not stop the tightly bound
jurmentado Moro until he had done his harm, the soft-nosed bullet of the Colt 45
had the "kick of a mule" and would not only penetrate him, but would
knock him down and thus put him out of action.
Just as an aside, in order to convey the character of the city of Zamboanga in
those days, there were two prominent signs downtown. One read "Concepcion
Bed Factory." The other said "Liquor Drinking Place." The city
leaders obviously didn't care much for modern advertising logos. They preferred
to "tell it like it is."
In 1938 and 1939 one occasionally saw two young 'beach combers' along the shores
of Zamboanga - a young man and a young lady of about my age. They were brother
and sister. The story in Zamboanga was that they were the illegitimate children
of General Pershing. Their mother, a native of the area, was known as Princess
something or other. She allegedly had received periodic payments from the
General during most of her lifetime for her support and the support of her two
children. I don't know if the story was true, but I am inclined to believe it.
The brother and sister were unusually handsome people, as was Pershing's
legitimate son, Warren, with whom I had shared "honors" at the CMTC
camp at Fort Snelling, Minnesota, back in 1926.
Pettit Barracks in Zamboanga was a very small military post. As I recall, there
were only about ten American officers and their wives (no bachelors) and three
or four American Non-commissioned officers. There were two infantry companies -
one made up entirely of Moros and the other of non-Moro Filipinos. The Moro
company wore distinctive uniforms, authorized by the U.S. Army. First of all,
they were armed with the kris instead of the regulation Army bayonet. Secondly,
they wore a distinctive headgear instead of the broad-brimmed, high crowned U.S.
Army campaign hat. Their headgear consisted only of a band around the head with
a triangular peak sticking up in the back. The first sergeant of the Moro
company explained it to me. They couldn't have a hat with a brim because when
they faced kneeling toward Mecca to pray at appropriate times of the day, their
forehead had to touch the ground. A brim would not have allowed them to do this.
Also, the hat couldn't have a crown because when Allah gives his blessing from
on high to one of his Mohammedan subjects, he doesn't want anything to interfere
with or intervene between himself and the subject's head such as the crown of a
hat, for example.
I indicated earlier that the Moros were a very strong hearty people. This was
evident when we had athletic contests between the two companies such as track
meets and swimming meets. The Moro company usually won almost everything. They
made no bones about the fact that they looked down upon the other Filipinos as
inferior to them in practically all respects. It was somewhat amusing to me when
an officer from the U.S. Army Inspector General's office in Manila made his
annual inspection of Pettit Barracks. He voiced the fear that the Moros with
their krises might one night decide to go jurmentado and slaughter the
neighboring Filipino company. He suggested that we put padlocks on the wooden
racks which held the krises. It took us some time to convince him that if the
Moros did some day decide to do this (and the padlocks might suggest it to
them), a mere padlock or two would not stop them. He finally reluctantly
conceded the point.
REFLEXION: All too frequently, those who hold titles of authority tend to give
directions to those with experience on the spot, without accepting
responsibility for the results.
Army life in Zamboanga was very pleasant indeed. Just as at Fort Mckinley, I had
a large two-story home and the same three servants. The house was right on the
sea and, parked on the beach behind it was my outrigger canoe with a very large
multi-colored sail. Every family had one. After lunch each day, most everyone
either played tennis or badminton on the post or golf at the nearby golf club.
It was the custom, late in the afternoon to go for a sail on the Sulu Sea to one
or more of the nearby islands and frequently to take a picnic supper. It was
also the custom after dinner, as at most other Army posts throughout the world
to go to the Officers' Club for a bit of drinking and other social activities.
I had one very good civilian friend in Zamboanga. His name was Frederick (Firtz)
Worcester. He had a beautiful home outside the city on a large coconut
plantation where he produced copra. He had another home perched on top of a
small tall island which he owned and which he called "gold bug
island." The lower portion of the island was so choked with orchids of
every variety that one literally had to cut one's way through them with a kris
in order to get to the path leading up to the house on top. He always joked that
if the Japs ever came, he would go to "gold bug island" and they'd
never find him. The Japanese did come a couple of years later, but he didn't go
to "gold bug" -- at least nor for very long. He took to the jungles of
Mindanao and survived as a guerrilla fighter for the duration of the war.
Fritz' father had been the first Secretary of State in the government of the
Philippines after Admiral Dewey and his American forces took the islands away
from Spain. Firtz had a beautiful motor yacht complete with crew which, as I
recall, was named the "Nanon," an apparent nickname for his mother. He
and I and usually one or two other men would sometimes go out on the Nanon for
three or four days of the greatest fishing I have ever had. It was not unusual
to catch a thousand pounds of fish such as talakitoc, tangingi, tangingi-bato,
tuna, and the most delicious fish in the world, namely lapu-lapu.
My second son, Bruce Frederick Moore, was named after Bruce Easley, West Point
1929 (retired Major General) and Frederick (Fritz) Worcester, both of whom were
my close friends in the Philippines. He couldn't follow in better footsteps than
in those of these two fine men.
After a year in Zamboanga, we returned to Manila and Fort McKinley to finish out
the two year tour in the Philippines. One incident seems worth noting. I went on
maneuvers with my regiment up in the Lingayen Gulf area of the island of Luzon.
I recall that, after several days of mock battles in this area, we all gathered
for a critique in a large tent on the last evening of the maneuvers. Each of us
had something to say about the success, or lack thereof, of the maneuvers. I
have never forgotten Bruce Easley's comments. He said, "Some day the
Japanese will storm ashore here in Lingayen Gulf and, with our meager efforts to
stop them, they'll go through our defenses like 'green corn through the hired
girl.'" I don't know exactly where Bruce came from in the southern reaches
of the United States, but wherever it was, they had some colorful expressions.
In any case, that was exactly what happened approximately a year later.