Leyte Pilgrimage – Day One
As we made our descent into Leyte’s Tacloban Airport, I vacated my port-side preferred aisle seat and moved towards the window then buckled in. Visibly condensed, chilled and misted air flowed out of the specialized air conditioning system above us, very necessary in the Southwest Pacific. Our final approach was north to south.
The tarmac filled my window and thought to myself, My god. We are actually going to land on the island where my uncle was killed. It is finally happening. Our plane touched down at 4:40 pm.
I wonder what my cousin Masako felt at that very same instant. Besides my 96 year old father, she is the last person on this earth that truly remembers Uncle Suetaro.¹ I had been imagining many things of my uncle’s resting place. I solemnly realized that I had been grieving over what we know happened to him as well as how my father silently grieved for decades… but now, I feared about what we may discover about what truly happened to Uncle Suetaro. His suffering. His death.
I slung my orange backpack weighed down with my cameras and lenses over my shoulder then exited from the rear of the air conditioned jet. It would be six days before I would once again sit in such air conditioned luxury. The impact of the tropical heat and humidity was immediate on this southern California body. I began to perspire faster than Hillary could tell a lie. It reminded me of the climate inside the house when I lived with my last ex – ugly.
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After being greeted by Akehira and Calimera, husband and wife owners of the limo service, we quickly exited the heat and humidity into two cooled vans.
Along the way to our hotel, we made our first stop: White Beach. Code named White Beach (see below) by the American invasion forces, it lays just south of the airport. There were two Imperial Japanese Army pillboxes left pretty intact for historical purposes.
On A-Day, the US Army’s 7th Cavalry Regiment assaulted White Beach.
Per Cannon’s book, “…Both squadrons landed on schedule, with only slight opposition, and immediately began to execute their assignments. The 2d Squadron, within fifteen minutes after landing, knocked out two pillboxes on the beach, killing eight Japanese in one and five in the other.”
These are those two pillboxes.
Day Two to follow.
That’s when the crying really begins.
Part 3 is here.
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NOTES
- The only other person with active memories of Uncle Suetaro was the reverend of the Buddhist temple adjacent to our Hiroshima home. I talked with him three years ago when he was about 90 years old but with a sharp as a tack memory. He passed away last year per Masako.
Masako and Spam Musubi 
Even though I have never been in the pillbox, I can only imagine how cold it must feel at times and more importantly, I’m sure one could hear the sounds echo within still, the shouting and the sounds of gunfire, what an incredible place.
Indeed… The horror of both being inside the pillbox – as well as the horrors confronting the American soldiers on the outside.
Can’t even imagine what that must of been like.
Please don’t wait too long to conclude this story! 🙂 What an incredible pilgrimage, Koji. I’m moved already to think of what you have learned and I am very impressed. Your journey illustrates that no matter how many years pass, if a family is torn apart by war and violence, it doesn’t just become a footnote in history; it is a family story and it needs resolution. I do hope you found some peace within all those tears. I’m eager to read on!
Thank you, Debra, as always. What made the memorial services so emotional is that while Uncle Suetaro was killed in war, none of us really knew OF him except for Masako. It finally hit everyone that there were millions like him on all sides… and that while they gave their lives, very few even know they had lived. That is what got us.
Just seeing and breathing the air helps bring resolution ……
I hope so, sir. I hope so. While Wayne came back albeit scarred for the rest of his life, there were millions like my Uncle who fought for what they believed in and died. Even so, what made it painfully clear for our little family group was that while he gave his life, only Masako really knew of him… That is what was so sad.
Thank you for sharing this very important and personal story with us. I am always left speechless after each entry.
You are very kind, Takami-san. Thank you.
Koji I can only try to imagine what you and your family must be feeling. Though I try, I know that I can’t possibly feel what you do. I wish your father knew and understood what you did. Where you went. I know from your writings how he loved his brother and how his life must have been so impacted. I am so grateful on your behalf that you had this opportunity and are now sharing it with us.
What made it painful was that of our family there, only Masako knew him. A few of us barely or never knew of him until recently. He lost his life but had been forgotten.
He’s not forgotten now Koji. You’ve made sure of that. Think of all of the people who read about him, see his face, wonder about his youthful thoughts, worries and fears. Hope that his end was not as bad as what we imagine, though we know it wasn’t good. But now, he has people around the world who ‘know’ him.
I feel you are paving the way for me, and others like me, to take these journeys of remembrance for our relatives. Even though we may not have known them personally. You also have made me realise that it is important to be with other people for such a pilgrimage. Thank you.