#50 – Grim Reality: POW Life Inside Corregidor’s 92nd Garage

Episode 50 – Alma Salm – Episode Script

Cold Open
[Narrator] Battle-stained, exhausted Americans – a mixture of Marines, soldiers, and sailors who had joined together to defend Corregidor Island – stood outside one of the smaller tunnel entrances on Corregidor, helplessly waiting, as they looked morosely to the top of Malinta Hill, where the white flag of surrender waved peacefully in the wind.
Some were silent, with gaunt eyes and strained expression still turned seaward, as if continuing to hope that their deliverance would appear on the horizon. Others, disillusioned and disappointed, muttered about their helplessness and uncertainty.
The disjointed conversation drew the attention of a nearly 47-year-old Navy Chief Pay Clerk named Alma Salm.
[Sergeant] “Hell!”
[Narrator] He heard one pessimistic Army sergeant say, spitting between newly broken front teeth at a cockroach crawling along the ground.
[Sergeant] “They send us out here equipped like little boys with a few down-at-the-heel popguns — expecting us to do a man’s job. Why, damnit all, six months before the war broke they knew back home we were plenty weak out here and couldn’t hold off Japan. Why in the hell weren’t we either reinforced, or packets sent out to take us home? We’d be a damn sight more useful to our country literally anywhere else in the world than we’re going to be molding in a prison camp.”
[Boatswain] “Oh, take is easy, Buddy,”
[Narrator] remarked an optimistic boatswain’s mate. The Army sergeant continued as though the other hadn’t spoken.
“What kind of game is this I’d like to know — slapping those official bulletins last month up on every other damn tree on Bataan — ‘Hundreds of planes and thousands of men will soon be here.’ ‘We will retreat no further.’ Yeah, that’s one for the book, boys.”
[Narrator] The sergeant spat again, giving the Boatswain’s mate a chance to continue.
[Boatswain] “Our country isn’t going to forget our efforts here. Not by a damn sight. Why after the fun we had holding the Japs back so our country could get its breath — and helped save Australia from being attacked by the Japanese — we’ll be able to write our own ticket. Sure our government won’t let us down. I’ll be an officer in no time, and you, Sarg, aw you’ll be, maybe, a captain.”
[Narrator] The sergeant gave him a sour grin and spat with vehemence at the roach just coming to life again.
[Sergeant] “After that yarn about planes and men coming to our rescue, I am not interested in bedtime stories, sailor,”
[Narrator] the sergeant said, then looked out to sea, shading his eyes with his hand.
[Sergeant] “I’ll tell you what — sure I see a formation of goddamn planes, but sailor, they’re not flying our insignia.”
[Narrator] Salm smiled wryly as he listened to this banter. Hope and resentment, he thought.
It was the perfect description for this motley crew of Army, Navy, and Marine corps men who had kept the enemy at bay for 5 months.
What they’d accomplished had been almost miraculous – and had indeed halted Japanese attacks on Australia; the enemy had to conquer The Philippines before it could move on to that larger target.
It was a feat worthy of adulation, but instead, they had been all but abandoned, seemingly forgotten, left behind.
And instead of promotions or awards, they were staring down an unknown fate as prisoners of war.
This is Left Behind.

Podcast Welcome
Welcome to “Left Behind,” a podcast about the people left behind when the US surrendered The Philippines in the early days of WW2. I’m your host and researcher, Anastasia Harman.
And this is the 50th episode of Left Behind! And to commemorate that milestone, I am honored to finally share with you the story of my great-grandfather Alma Salm, the man who inspired the Left Behind podcast and my overall project to tell the stories of the men and women in The Philippines during WW2.
Perhaps you’re wondering why I haven’t focused an episode on Salm until now. Well, the reason is that I’m trying to tell the story of WW2 in The Philippines in order. And the best place, I felt, for Alma to tell his story was right after he’d been captured on Corregidor. And that’s what we’re going to hear today – his words about his capture after the final Allied surrender in The Philippines.

Let’s jump in.

POW’s Life Story
Before the War
[Narrator] Alma Ernest Salm was born on June 16, 1895, in Salt Lake City, Utah. He was the oldest of 5 children born to Karl and Eliza Salm. His father, Karl, was a German immigrant butcher who arrived in the US in 1884.
The family story goes that Karl had a wife and children in Germany, but after his wife died there, he came to the US with one son – the remaining children sent to live with other family members. And I know that story is at least somewhat true because I was able to meet some distant German Salm cousins who grandchildren of Karl’s German children. Once in Utah, Karl met and married Eliza Keller, a Swiss immigrant who was about 20 years younger than Karl.
As I understand it, both of his parents had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in their home countries, thus when they arrived in the US, they came directly to Salt Lake City, which was quite common for Latter-day Saint immigrants at the time period.
Together Karl and Eliza had 5 children, and Karl’s son from the first marriage lived with them. The Salm family lived in Salt Lake City, and Alma attended LDS High School in downtown Salt Lake.
When Alma was 15, his father Karl died, followed 5 years later by his mother in November 1915, when he was 20 and his youngest sibling was 13. Alma was working a clerical job at this time, and I wonder if Alma was guardian of his younger siblings, at least for a time.
6 months after his mother’s death, nearly 21-year-old Alma joined the US Navy. His next youngest brother Emil joined the Army and served in France during WW1. I have a picture of the two brothers in their respective uniforms, which I posted to the Left Behind website and Facebook page. From what I’ve found, the younger siblings went to live with family members in Utah.
Alma entered the US Navy as a landsman – that was the lowest rate of the United States Navy at the time. It was given to new recruits who had little or no experience at sea—such as young men who grew up in a land-locked state like Utah. Landsmen performed menial, unskilled work aboard ship, but after 3 years could be promoted to ordinary seaman.
In 1917, Alma was stationed at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, and from there, he went to the Naval Station in Guam until 1920. Thus, while he did serve in the Navy during WW1, he doesn’t appear to seen any WW1 action.

After Guam, he was sent to the Navy shipyard in San Francisco, California. And it was here that he met a 21-year-old firecracker of a young woman named Emily Hunt. Emily, who is my great-grandmother, was born and raised in Oakland, California, right across the Bay from San Francisco. I introduced her previously – in the episode about her experience during the bombing of Pearl Harbor. That’s episode 39. (She’s the grandmother I always knew as Mimi. And that’s how I’ll refer to her here.)
And Mimi isn’t the only one with aliases. Alma himself, or so the story goes, didn’t like his name and went by other names, including his middle name Ernest. My father, Monty Sutherland, who was Alma and Mimi’s grandson, told me:
[Monty] “He was called Al, generally, by his family members and some of his close friends. And he was a rather tall man, about six foot, one inches, maybe a little bit taller. My grandmother on the other hand was only about five foot, two inches. I remember granddad having a full head of white hair. And a thin profile mustache with some gray in it. According to Mimi, his hair was already whitish when she met him around the age of 19 by the Redwood Creek that was winding through the Redwood Canyon regional park off of Redwood Road in Oakland, California.
“She came upon him while hiking and discovered that he was suffering from a migraine headache. She told me that she dipped the handkerchief into the Creek and placed it on Al's forehead several times in an attempt to help ease the pain. I do not know if that actually worked to solve the headache problem, but they got to talking, they hit it off immediately. And as they say, the rest is history.”
[Narrator] Growing up, he was always referred to as Alma, and that is how I’ve referred to him throughout this podcast. Thus, I’ll continue to do so.
Mimi and Alma married in October 1920, in San Jose, California. 10 months later, their oldest daughter, Blossom, was born.
I’ve found ship and navy records that give me a year-by-year and station-by-station timeline of Alma’s Navy service. And like most career Navy men, he bounced around from station to station and ship to ship every 1-2 years throughout the 1920s and 1930s, including stations in Washington state, Pearl Harbor, and several cruises on board ships – including a 2-to-3-year stint on the USS Canopus in the late 1920s. In 1924, he was raised in rate to Chief Pay Clerk, a position he held until after WW2.
From what I’ve gathered from service records, Alma wasn’t home a lot. He was at sea for at least 6 of their first 20 married years. Alma and Mimi’s second and youngest child was born in 1932, and she’s my grandmother Carole. By the late 1930s, the family – well, at least Mimi and their two daughters – had settled on Los Aromas Blvd in Oakland, California.
In 1941, so as we’re getting closer to the war, Alma was stationed with the 16th Naval District in the Philippine Islands. Toward the end of 1941, he would be the Chief Pay Clerk on board the submarine tender USS Canopus. He recalled:
[Salm] “Although attached to the tender only a short time before hostilities commenced, I held fondest memories of the “old floating apartment house” dating back to the late “twenties” — at which time I had been attached to her for over two years in Philippine and Chinese waters.”

During the War
[Narrator] The Canopus had just finished undergoing renovations at the Cavite Navy Yard near Manila when Japan attacked The Philippines on December 8, 1941. The ship escaped the raid that destroyed that yard on December 10, and initially docked (under camouflaged paint and netting) at Manila, until retreating to Mariveles Harbor in the very south of Bataan Peninsula in early January 1942.
One of Chief Pay Clerk Salm’s main duties on the ship was supply management, a job that almost got him killed during the first few months of the war:
[Salm] “During the lull between enemy air fights, I was directed to put out in a small Navy motorboat and chart the location of the various oil barges and lighters in Mariveles Harbor and determine their contents. We were looking for additional quantities of diesel oil which was especially precious to us at this time.
“While engaged in this survey, five Jap dive bombers swooped down over us from the hills on the western side near its entrance. We stopped the boat and “lay to” while adjusting life jackets and putting on steel helmets of [World] War I vintage, expecting the worst.
“However, the enemy was after “bigger fish.” They passed over us at three thousand feet, went into a dive and dropped their “stick of bombs” midst a group of larger Naval craft a short distance east around the point.

[Narrator] Very early on the morning of April 9, 1942, Salm – who was nearly 47 years old – and the remaining USS Canopus crew were allowed to come ashore on Corregidor Island and thus evaded becoming part of the Bataan Death March by mere hours. And I personally believe that, due to his age, if Salm had been forced into that march, he would not have survived the war.
Many of the Canopus men joined the Marine forces defending the beaches of Corregidor – but Salm mentions nothing about being part of that defense or the battles on May 6 when Japanese forces landed. So, I assume he didn’t participate in that.
Still, he was taken captive by the Japanese forces later that day.
The Navy had its own tunnel system inside Malinta Hill – called Queen’s Tunnel. This tunnel system was attached to the larger Malinta Tunnel system, although it had its own outside entrances. In the last hours before official surrender and before Japanese forces arrived at the tunnel, Salm and the other navy men were ordered to pile up all their arms and weapons outside the tunnel. Salm described it as
[Salm] “A large pile of rifles, bayonets, small arms ammunitions, a few machine guns, World War I steel helmets, bandoliers, gas masks, etc. A good deal of similar war accouterments littered the immediate area. A small white surrender flag was planted on top of it.”
[Narrator] This completed, Salm and two navy petty officers were standing outside the tunnel, not far from the pile, when
[Salm] “several Japanese tanks flanked by infantry and led by a Japanese officer with his heavy two-handed sword unsheathed appeared from on up the road. The officer motioned us to move [the] surrender pile from the path of the tanks.
“This completed, the Japanese officer grinning sardonically brandished his sword and started it coming toward us aimed at our heads. For just an instant a thought flashed through my mind, “We were going to be decapitated in the good old samurai manner.” But its course suddenly swerved upward descending with a heavy resounding thump on top of our heads in quick succession. For a moment we all were a little non-plussed.
Then the whole procession of tanks, trailed by a filthy-looking battalion of disheveled infantrymen in marching columns proceeded down the sloping, dusty road. … Later, I was informed that the cranial trouncing a la sword was a gesture of a rather crude Oriental compliment to us. It was supposed to be in recognition of courage for having put up a good fight. However recollecting the impact of that sword blade against our collective skulls convinced us otherwise.”

[Narrator] By this time, the Corregidor defenders were not in a great physical condition – their rations had been continually cut, so they were hungry and thin, and contagious diseases had already been inflicting the men. (Still their condition was much better than their counterparts on Bataan had been when they surrendered.) The American and Filipino men captured on Corregidor waited, in and near Malinta tunnel the entire next day, May 7. Periodically, Japanese troops would come by and loot them – taking watches, rings, and anything else of value.
Salm continued:
[Salm] “The next morning, May 8, 1942 [two days after the US surrendered Corregidor], the Japs began shouting and screaming at everyone in the entire area to immediately form into marching columns on the road. Those who had anticipated this move had already prepared small packs or barracks bags with a few clothes and other essentials, and carried them along.
“In a few moments, we were marching up the sloping road along the south side of Malinta Hill, eastward into the broiling sun, for a distance of about one mile.
“It was an arduous journey for many who were half well and ailing principally from malaria, even at this early period. As the leading battalions disappeared from sight over the brow of an eastern ridge, it reminded one of lost souls vanishing into oblivion.
“Descending down the steep hills nearing the end of our journey, we passed numbers of black and bloated bodies of our unburied dead lying on the dry dusty roads. They had fallen during the battle … two days before, and the Japs had not as yet permitted burial.
“Decomposition, which is rapid in the tropics, was already setting in. This had brought swarms of big blue flies which amassed over them, concentrating on their faces which were exposed.
“Our destination was a small, almost sea-level, area about six hundred feet square and flanked on the eastern side by two or three large (and old) galvanized iron buildings painted black.
“They had been perforated with hundreds of holes due to previous enemy bombings and strafing runs. There were a few bomb craters on the perimeter of this open space.
“This place was known as the Army 92nd Garage.”
“Steep hills rose up almost abruptly from three sides. The fourth side opened to the sea bay on the south which was strewn with large rocks and boulders.”

[Narrator] The Army 92nd Garage was in a sandy, beach area right on the water. Those two galvanized steel buildings had originally been hangars for sea planes. The entire 92nd Garage area was about 500’x1,500′ or roughly the size of 12 American football fields -- 3 fields side by side, and 4 football fields long. 11,000-14,000 Filipino and American POWs were packed into this area. I have found several pictures of the 92nd Garage area, including some images of the beach packed with POWs, and I’ve of course posted them on the Left Behind website.
The 92nd Garage was on the island’s southern side, which meant it bore the brunt of the hot Philippine sun. Salm described:
[Salm] “This area held the heat of a hot oven. It was the hottest and driest time of the year, just before the rainy season.
“These galvanized buildings were heavily covered with dirt and filth. After setting up a First Aid Station and various work detail centers, little room was left for general occupancy in the north section; and the south was entirely occupied by the Filipinos who were segregated into that division and the adjacent areas.
“Most of us settled down on the ground outside. There were no facilities whatsoever here.
“We were protected from the sun by small sections of canvas shelter halves, blankets, or any other covering we had the forethought to carry with us. These we rigged up on some small sticks we had gathered from the sparse growing brush nearby and what we could salvage from the general trash lying about.
“Under these small inadequate shelters, we crowded together in an attempt to share what little protection they provided. Needless to say, having no pads or mattresses, we slept on the ground. Officers and enlisted men were branded with a number painted on the back of their shirts.
“One of the first work details assembled was sent out to bury those dead comrades who we had passed on our march to camp.
“Due to the decomposed condition of the bodies, wire was attached to a leg and the corpses dragged a short distance to a shallow grave for burial. One of the Army chaplains was present and conducted funeral services as the burials took place. …
“Very little drinking water was available at this point; what there was occupied a shallow well. After only a couple of dozen bucketfuls were drawn, the well became nearly dry. We would patiently wait a half-hour or so until water seeped in sufficiently to begin operations again. It was very brackish and not pure enough to drink without treatment of iodine.
“After several days a small one-inch water pipe was laid to our present internment area. There was little pressure at best. It flowed very slowly most of the time and at certain periods was shut off completely, long before the wants of many of us had been satisfied.
“Although it was tepid and ordinarily foul tasting, under the circumstances it tasted good to parched throats, although one treated it against infection if they had the necessary chemical. Some drunk without the precaution on a chance nothing serious in the way of intestinal parasites would result.
“There was always a water line. Here every type of container, old or new, that could be salvaged from the rubble about us was pressed into use. Gasoline tins, meat cans, gasoline drums, metal cylindrical powder cases, military water containers and canteens, washing buckets: all saw duty to obtain this precious liquid.
“We would stand in the water line sometimes as long as three hours in the fierce heat before our turn arrived. Those few individuals constituting the small group to which I was attached (a sort of family unit) would each take turns—”sweating” out the water line in relays after an hour of standing in the torrid heat. This line was continuous all day and night.
“The water was only available in quantities for drinking and cooking purposes. None was available in which to wash clothes or to bathe. We attempted to wash clothes in salty sea water and with the aid of a good sunning it helped, although it was far from a satisfactory job.
“No food was furnished to us by the Japs at this time.
“A little later on some uncooked food was brought into the camp by our own working parties for general rationing from a central point; but it was wholly inadequate and not systematically distributed for the most part, at any time.
“Reluctantly the Japs finally gave us permission to forage for food and water among our surrendered installations a mile away on Malinta Hill.
“This [food] was now war booty of the Japanese, and what little we did salvage this way was by sufferance only. They were not very disposed to let us pass the posted guards, in order to salvage clothes and other badly needed items strewn about the tunnels and around the abandoned fox holes, pill boxes, and dug in positions.
“Groups of one hundred men under the leadership of a field officer … were permitted to travel for water and to the [island’s] upper regions for necessities. We were warned that the groups must return intact.
“Upon arriving back at the camp, if an American was slow in returning due to being burdened with food or water supplies, he was at times beaten with a rifle butt.
“Malnutrition silently started to work.
“And already the diseases dysentery, diarrhea, and malaria began ravaging many of our number, although this was mild in comparison to what lay ahead. We had to take care of each other as best we could.
“Our medical officers had a little medicine and distributed it the best they knew how; but they were totally without many essential drugs. The sick and weak and those who frequently fainted from heat prostration in this oven of a place lay around the small First Aid Station.
“Occasionally one or two were permitted to be littered back up the hills for temporary treatment at the hospital in the [Malinta] tunnels where there were yet many of our worst cases. However, a lot were discharged prematurely and sent down to us in order to make room for Jap sick and wounded who were also being attended by our doctors.
“Many of these afflicted Americans were far from well but, nevertheless, had been inhumanly turned out of the hospital. It was pitiful indeed to see some of those men who were so sick, many with high fevers, just laying there in the dirt without proper food, medicine, and proper attention in that unbearable heat.”
[Narrator] The Malinta Tunnel had a 1,000-bed hospital, which was, by the time the island fell, filled with sick and wounded men. You may recall from previous episodes that for a full 7 days prior to surrender, the island had been heavily and nearly incessantly bombed by Japanese aircraft and artillery from Bataan. (Episodes 40 and 44 cover details of the last, brutal days on Corregidor.)
Thus, when the Japanese took possession of the tunnel, the hospital was filled with wounded of the shelling, as well as hundreds of those wounded during the Corregidor invasion. I suspect that the result of this was wounded men had priority for beds in the hospital, while sick men had to fend for themselves in the dirt and heat of the 92nd Garage.
And, unfortunately for both the sick and the fairly healthy, sanitary conditions at the 92nd Garage soon took a bad turn.
[Salm] “A certain confusion and chaos reigned everywhere. An attempt to bring about a semblance of order was only partially effective.
“Flies, of course, were everywhere. The large red-headed blue bottle species, much larger than the ordinary blowfly here in the United States, as well as the small type house fly, multiplied by the thousands because of the ideal breeding places in the open straddle trench latrines [that were dug in the interment area]. Although a certain amount of fire and disinfection was possible to eliminate them, it was too meager, and swarms of flies carrying death-dealing infections continued to breed by the thousands.
“The men took advantage to keep cool from the broiling tropical sun by remaining nude in the bay water at depths up to their necks.
“We were continually dripping perspiration as the sun overhead hung in a cloudless sky like a fiery ball during those days. Not a breath of air stirred during most of the day, and, at times, we were almost suffocating.
“How we watched and waited; and how slowly the sun moved across the heavens. And when, at about six p.m., it slipped below Malinta Hill to the west, we only then had [relief] from its flaming rays. By midnight it became a little cooler so one could snatch a few hours of sleep without perspiring before the process was begun all over again.
“Due to poor sanitation and a lack of interest in personal hygiene, the ocean water and beaches in our immediate vicinity became polluted. Some of the filthy individuals defecated into the sea while bathing, which contributed to further infections among us.”

[Narrator] And then, the rains came – as did deliverance from the airless, disease-ridden oven called the 92nd Garage:
[Salm] “In the early hours of the morning of May 23, 1942, the first torrential rainstorm of the season fell. Daylight found us huddled together, completely drenched as only a tropical deluge can saturate one.
“Dog tired from the lack of rest the previous night, nevertheless we were enthused a little to learn that orders had been received to evacuate this concentration area.
“We retraced our steps to “Bottomside” [which was next to Malinta Hill].
“As we marched along—a grim, dejected lot—we passed within the shadow of the church. As a result of the constant bombing, practically all the surrounding buildings were reduced to rubble. However, the little stone chapel appeared largely undisturbed and stood tranquil amid the chaos and ruin. Through the partly demolished walls one glimpsed the large heavy-paged bible upon the pulpit, a comforting influence.
“After being herded together again for several hours under the ever-present blazing sun, we were marched in groups down to the small pier extending into South Harbor.
“In various small boats and launches we arrived alongside three old and extremely filthy Japanese troop ships. …
“The ship’s hold, into which we were jammed, was equipped with bunk tiers covered by vermin-infested straw matting. We lay shoulder to shoulder.
“The air was hot, sick, and foul. There was no ventilation except from the small booby hatch thru which we gained entrance.
“Literally every foot of space was utilized, and many were compelled to spread over the top hatches like a “starfish spread out over a clam,” to use an “old salt’s” expression. Others crammed into the small weather deck spaces. Decks were bare, rusty metal.
“That night it rained again, and we who were obliged to lie on the bare iron deck were anything but a comfortable lot.
“The following morning, Sunday, May 24, 1942, the three prisoner-of-war ships moved away from anchorage in South Harbor and slowly steamed thru the channel heading for Manila, twenty-eight miles to the eastward.”
[Narrator] These 2 ships took the American men to Manila, where Salm and his comrades were paraded through the streets – a propaganda move designed to show off the disgraced American defenders to the Filipino populace.
From there Salm, who himself was sick with Malaria, endured a train ride north – in an airless, oven-like metal boxcar -- to the town of Cabanatuan, then marched 15 miles to Cabanatuan POW Camp #3. Salm struggled during this march and toward the end encountered a daunting hill:
[Salm] “I half remember slowly inching toward the crest of the rise. … Upon attaining the top of the knoll, … I suffered a complete blackout from heat prostration.
“I recovered consciousness with [a medic] kneeling by my side. He had a small pocket medical kit for personal use and revived me with some preparation he administered.
“The column had disappeared up the dusty road and were out of sight. He had been permitted by one of the new guards to remain with me.
“About a half an hour later, a truck came along [and picked us up]. … This truck passed the marching brown column [of POWs] and dumped us off at Prison Camp Number Three, where we sank on the ground under a small tree.”
[Narrator] Thus Salm had arrived at the Cabanatuan POW camps. Also arriving at Cabanatuan were the Bataan Death March survivors, who had spent the previous 6 weeks at the hellish Camp O’Donnell. (Episode 32 describes life in that camp.)
Cabanatuan, upon the POWs’ arrival, became a sick-infested, disease-ridden pit. The camps didn’t see a death-free day for at least 6 months. The Americans were given little food, beyond maggoty rice, by their captors, and had to use their creativity and scavenging skills to scrounge enough food to survive.
After about 5 months at Cabanatuan, Salm was transferred to the Nichols Field work camp near Manila. This camp was Salm’s PTSD-inducing nightmare, which he referred to as a
[Salm] “Hellhole of a work camp.”
Before the war, Nichols Field was an American airbase. Upon capturing it, the Japanese had plans to enlarge the airfield and turn it into a base with the Pacific’s largest runway. They used American and Filipino POWs to build that runway – by hand.
Salm and the other POWs were housed in the former Pasay Elementary School, about 1 mile from the airfield. They slept on classroom floors, with their few personal belongings as pillows and thin bamboo mats for “beds.” As usual, food was extremely limited.
Each day, after being made to line up and counted by the guards, the POWs were marched the mile from the elementary school to Nichols Field, where they used shovels and pickaxes to level hills for the runway. They dug out the base of a hill until the dirt collapsed (and hopefully it wouldn’t bury them alive). They then loaded the dirt and rocks into small mining carts and hauled it away.
It was exhausting, backbreaking work. During the rainy season, POWs were working in downpouring rain, sometimes in water and mud up to their knees, while wearing “scanty rags” for clothing—and required to meet a daily quota or endure beatings.

[Narrator] The most traumatic stories in Salm’s memoir come from his time at Nichols Field, including that of the POW who started this entire project, Norman Hinckley. I’ll be sharing his story in a future episode.
Salm remained at Nichols Field for 5 or 6 months, before being sent back to Cabanatuan. By the time of his return, life at Cabanatuan was settling into a “normalcy” of sorts. The disease and death rates went down, the men were able to set up libraries, stage plays, and churches. For Alma, the religious aspect was quite important, and he seems to have formed strong bonds with several of the camp chaplains.
The majority of Salm’s 246-page memoir covers his time at Cabanatuan – and the various challenges, events, and people within the camp. And we’ll, of course, continue to hear his descriptions of those things in future episodes as we meet the men who were imprisoned with him.

In late January 1945, after nearly 3 years imprisonment, Salm – now 49-year-old – was one of 511 POWs remaining at the Cabanatuan POW camp. The remainder had left the camp in October 1944 for transportation to Japan, most of them on board the ill-fated Oryoku Maru. Salm escaped that tragedy because he was sick and physically weak (I get the impression that his time at Nichols Field left him physically impaired for the rest of his time as a POW) and the Japanese took only the most able-bodied POWs from the camp.
Those diseases and ailments saved Salm’s life. I am certain, due to his age, that if he had been in better health and part of the Oryoku Maru POWs, that he would not have survived.
On the night of January 30-31, 1945, American Rangers liberated the Cabanatuan POW camp, travelling 20+ miles behind enemy lines to do so. At first, the POWs in Cabanatuan were confused about the identity of their liberators.
[Salm] “I grabbed one of our rescuers in the darkness to be sure all this was true. His unfamiliar uniform puzzled me.
“‘Guerillas?’ [I asked]
“‘No,’ he replied, ‘We’re American Rangers.’
“I felt the hot barrel of his automatic rifle. It was good to see rifles in the hands of Americans again. From out of the din, an order reached us:
“‘I’m an American. Get the hell to the main gate on the double.’
“’I’m an American, too,’ replied one of the war prisoners.
“‘I know you are,’ replied a towering, blackened figure, smelling of war and holding a rifle, fortified by two bandoliers of ammunition around his midriff. ‘What the hell do you think we are here for?’
“Everybody laughed at this repartee as they moved happily yet uncertainly along – still unable to assimilate this wonderful thing which was happening so quickly.
“Gradually realization we were being delivered, at long last, by these new bred warriors dawned within us.”
[Narrator] The Rangers then escorted the POWs – some able to walk on their own, others pulled on carts – more than 20 miles to American lines. By daybreak on the 31st, the group had arrived at the Filipino town of Talavera, which the US Army had recently liberated. The villagers lined the road to watch the POWs walk by. The liberated POWs rested at this this town, until Army trucks came to carry them to a secure hospital location well behind American lines.
Here they were attended to by American doctors, given food and clothing, and prepared to return home.

After the War & Legacy
[Narrator] A few days later, on February 3, 1945, a telegram arrived around 9 am at a home in Oakland, California. It was a from the Chief Naval Personnel Officer and addressed to Emily Salm (my great-grandmother Mimi):
[Telegram] “Am pleased to inform you that unofficial information just received which is based on a press release from General MacArthur Headquarters states that your husband Chief Pay Clerk Alma Ernest Salm USN last reported to be a prisoner of war has been rescued by our forces and returned to military control official confirmation and further details will be forwarded promptly when received.”
[Narrator] Mimi must have immediately telegrammed the joyful information to others, because she received several more telegrams that day from friends rejoicing in the news.
Within a couple weeks, Mimi received official word that Alma was liberated, alive, and well. And that was soon followed by a letter from Alma himself. Sadly, I don’t have a copy of this letter, but local newspapers reprinted some of its contents:
[Salm] “Never forget to give God prayerful thanks every day for what you have as an American . . . be ever faithful to our creed, ever meek and humble.”
[Narrator] Printed with those articles are pictures of Mimi holding the letter – and also staring adoringly (and somewhat comically) at it. It’s very much staged, and very much Mimi. I’ve posted it online as well.
Alma Salm was flown home aboard a US air transport, arriving at an air base near San Francisco, where Mimi and my 13-year-old grandmother Carole greeted him. Their oldest daughter, Blossom, was stationed in Virginia with the Navy WAVES – that was the women’s navy corps at the time. My father, Monty Sutherland, told me:
[Monty] “So upon his return home, he had stepped off the airplane and he kissed the tarmac, so immensely grateful was he to be finally back on American soil in the continental United States with an end to his life changing ordeal.”

[Narrator] Soon after his arrival home, the local newspaper came to visit, snapping pictures of the happy family and Mimi, in another very staged photo, presenting Alma with a home-baked pie. My grandmother Carole recalled that:
[Carole] “I remember when he was home, my mother made him . . . He always liked her pie. She was going to bake him a fresh apple pie or something like that.”
[Narrator] And shortly after he arrived home, Mimi began noticing strange behavior in Alma with regard to food:
[Mimi] “My husband was obsessed with a strange hangover due to his starvation diet endured while a captive in the Philippines. He enjoyed treating people to food…very large quantities and actually almost crammed the stuff down their throat, so to speak…in his singular anxiety to see that they were well fed.”
[Narrator] This was among the first signs of PTSD. When Alma arrived home, among the first words he said to Mimi were:
[Salm] “Tottie, dearest, I am a very changed person since my incarceration. I hope you can bear up, for you will find me not as I was.”
[Narrator] BTW -- Tottie was another of Mimi’s nicknames. Mimi further explained:
[Mimi] “I thought them only emotional words of the moment, but as time went on, I was to fully understand my husband’s meaning and helplessly, gradually accept the situation.”
[Narrator] At the time, there wasn’t a diagnostic name for the issues that those who returned from war suffered from. Some people, starting after WW1, called it shell shock. Today, as you know, we call it PTSD. And Alma wasn’t an exception to these issues. He suffered from nightmares, angry outbursts, and other things we often associate with PTSD today.
Mimi described that Alma had a severe, non-nonsense, formal attitude when he was doing his Navy work, and that seemed to come home with him more and more often. She wrote:
[Mimi] “Carol Lou had told the psychologist that she was often afraid of her father because he would go into frightful tempers and yell. Although our daughter loved her father, when he’d raise his voice in agitation, she’d become frightened and often bolt out the door and across the street to hide in our neighbor’s shrubbery.”
[Narrator] The experts suggested Carole be sent away to boarding school, but since that wasn’t in the budget, they decided instead that Mimi and Carole go live with family in Hawaii for a year. This and other events began straining their husband-wife relationship, a separation that grew with a seemingly growing religious zeal on Alma’s part.
[Mimi] “As time advanced, your grandfather’s religious routine expanded and our social activities diminished. Where once Al had maintained a liberal schedule in this field allowing considerable room for us to enjoy harmonious living in both church and outside activities, a few good theaters, a couple in for bridge now and then, and a dinner party once in a blue moon now rarely fit into our life.
“Religion was becoming paramount and anything else became irrelevant and almost irreverent … After Al was occupied all day with his naval pursuits … most of his weeknights were filled with proselytizing.
“I gave him up to what I considered to be…his demanding God.”
[Narrator] So…religion.
First, I did a bit of research on this and I found that an increasing sense of religiosity can be a symptom of post-combat PTSD, although it hasn’t been widely studied.
Also, I think there were a couple tension-causing things going on regarding religion in this family. First, as I’ve already mentioned, Alma wasn’t home very often. Certainly, my grandma Carole says she didn’t really know her father. Here’s a bit from my conversation with her:
[Carole] “He was a hard person to know. He kept to himself. He had very bad nerves, you know, that’s from the war. He was very, very religious. And I was a young girl, I didn't know anything about religion. I had no interest because I've just young.
[Anastasia] “Was your mother religious?
[Carole] “No.”
[Narrator] From what I gather, Alma grew up in a religious, dedicated Latter-day Saint family. Mimi didn’t come from a religious family and wasn’t particularly religious herself. Combining this disparity of religion with Alma being away from home so often, well, I wonder if Mimi raised her children without as much religion as perhaps Alma would have wanted to if he were at home.
From his POW camp writings, I gather that he found an even deeper relationship with God during captivity. So, I think there was already a rather large religious division in the family when Alma came home from war – and it only increased as his zealousness also increased.
And that growing religious zeal alienated him from family – especially his oldest daughter as well as his wife’s siblings and extended family. My father, Monty Sutherland, told me:
[Monty] “He often delivered a missionary thread accompanying his conversations. And this for the most part was after he had returned home from the prisoner of war camp. In fact, he discussed religion so much that people often quickly tired of his constant gospel preaching. And during the later years of his life, he was often excluded, unfortunately, from social events, even holiday family gatherings, due his monopolizing the conversations with his religious, viewpoints with those who had very little or no interest in spirituality whatsoever. His older daughter, my aunt blossom, told me that these teachings were long, boring and embarrassing.”

[Narrator] Alma retired from the Navy in January 1955. He spent his retirement days studying geology at the University of California, Berkeley. In contrast to what we’ve heard above, my father, who lived with Mimi and Alma in the mid-1950s, has fond memories of his grandfather:
[Monty] “There's many little things that reminded me of what a really kind person he could be. One Christmas morning when I was probably about three years of age, we heard this loud knocking with a door knocker on the front door. And Mimi answers the door and exclaims: ‘Well, who could this possibly be?’ And as soon as we heard the volume as ho, ho, ho, we immediately knew who exactly must be.
“I do recall grandad teaching us how to fish. This plays on the thoughts that I had that he was a patient man. Because, you know, little kids. They don't pay attention for too long, they get distracted by things.”

[Narrator] Alma never fully recovered from the physical ailments he suffered as a POW. My Grandma Carole recalled that when he came home, he was in constant pain:
[Grandma] “He lost all this weight because the Japanese only let them have one little cup of rice once a day. And he had malnutrition, real bad. He was in constant pain. And he had these pain pills, but they didn't seem to do any good.”
[Narrator] As the years continued, he contracted heart disease, which was directly linked to his incarceration. Here’s my father again:
[Monty] “I believe it was a condition brought on and accelerated by these years of incarceration. I do remember that he would take nitroglycerin pills and put it underneath his tongue at night. And in fact, when he passed away, it's because he couldn't get his pills in time. … That was a really challenging thing for us. I remember the doctor coming over. I had to stay upstairs. We're not allowed to go downstairs. And we didn't at that young age, really understand why. But then we found out that granddad had had died.”

[Narrator] That was on February 22, 1957. Alma was 61-years-old and had been home from war for 12 years.
Alma Ernest Salm was laid to rest at Golden Gate National Cemetery, just outside of San Franciso. Mimi recalled:
[Mimi] “A color guard was stationed at the grave site during the ceremony. A large American flag was draped over my husband’s casket as a final tribute of honor from his country that the war hero had so earnestly and nobly helped to defend. As the last notes of taps died away, the guards removed the patriotic emblem, folded it in the customary triangle and placed it in my arms.”

[Narrator] Alma has become a hero and a legend in my family – that’s probably pretty obvious because he is the one who inspired me to start this project in the first place. Both my brother and I named our sons’ middle names after him.
I asked several family members what they considered to be Alma’s legacy. Here’s my father:
[Monty] “The thing that I miss terribly by his premature death is that I was denied the adult association with my retired grandfather. And I've carried that even to today. I'm 72 years old. I missed my grandfather all these many years. And keep in mind that I had only known him for three years. So that was the impact he made on a child. And so, there was a lot of goodness in this man.”
[Narrator] I once asked my 11-year-old son – Alma’s great-great-grandson—what Alma means to him:
[Asher] “There's pride about, my grandfather. I like to talk about it because I’m part of my grandfather and how he survived, and his story is inspiring. I like being able to teach people about it. I've taught it to my friends, multiple times. They think it's cool because a lot of them don't have great-great-grandfathers that served in the World War Two.”
[Narrator] My brother, Paul Sutherland – who always voices Alma in Left Behind episodes – and I were talking about Alma the other day. He told me:
[Paul] I guess his legacy would be one of patients, being able to push forward and endure, to give thanks every day, and to be ever meek and ever humble. And I think that if a man that was able to go through all of the things that he went through, all the things that he saw, experienced, and had to endure. If we can be like him and we can do those things, that would be amazing.
[Narrator[ And so the best way that I feel I can honor Alma Salm is to end this episode with his own words. Written three years after he was liberated from the pow camp:
[Salm] “God Almighty, in His goodness, gave us deliverance.
“The American Flag, when we saw it again after thirty-three months of hell, made us shed tears, spontaneously and unashamed, because of what it represented.
“Our liberty and democracy is the grandest heritage we have—it is worth every dollar and ounce of effort you can give it from the day of birth to the day of death…
“Never forget to give God prayerful thanks every day for what you have as an American…be ever faithful to our creed, ever meek and humble.”

[Narrator] While Alma was enduring his first days as a POW on Corregidor Island back in May 1942, all other Allied soldiers and sailors were surrendering on islands all across The Philippines. Islands they had spent months trying to defend from enemy forces but have received even less historical attention than the men who served on Bataan and Corregidor.
So be sure to hit the follow button because we’re going to fix that in the next POW story coming up in two weeks.
This is Left Behind.
Musical jingle/sound effects

Outro
Thanks for listening! You can find pictures, maps, and sources about Alma Salm’s story on the Left Behind website. The link is in the show description. And, while you’re there, consider becoming a Left Behind insider by signing up for my weekly emails – which include exclusive bonus content about each episode that I don’t post anywhere else. You’ll find a sign up form on the website.
Left Behind is researched, written, and produced by me, Anastasia Harman.
- Voice overs by: Paul Sutherland, Valerie Scatina, and Tyler Harman.
- Special thanks to: Monty Sutherland, Asher Harman, Valerie Scatina, and my grandmother Carole for their thoughts, information, documents, and time in helping to make this episode a reality.
- Dramatizations are based on historical research, although some creative liberty is taken with dialogue.
And remember to subscribe to left behind because you won't want to miss what happens when Japanese forces sabotage an entire island’s water supply.

Sources
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