Source: E-mail to Roger Mansell, Director, Center For Research

In the spring of 2001 I finally completed a “pilgrimage” I began 20 years ago—a journey to discover who my father, Jerry J. Bunch, Jr., was. I went to Ohashi, Japan, to see where Dad spent most of his 3 ½ years as a Japanese POW during WWII. Dad was a Radioman on the USS Houston when it was sunk in Sunda Straits on March 1, 1942. Surviving that, he was captured by the Japanese upon reaching the shore of Java. During the remainder of the war he was a POW in Serang and Jakarta in Indonesia, Changi Prison in Singapore, and, finally, in Ohasi (now called Ohashi) Camp on the island of Honshu in Japan. In 1981, three years after Dad’s untimely and tragic death in an automobile accident, my sister Susie and I traveled with a tour group of ex-POWs and visited all but Ohashi. Since then I have longed to complete the journey.

There is a certain amount of irony and, perhaps, some poetic justice in the fact that the bulk of the expenses involved in the final leg of my journey were paid for by a Japanese company. Obie and I were working for a Japanese client who paid our travel expenses to and from Japan (business class!!). Working with the Japanese client was a fascinating, frustrating, and growthful experience! What I learned about the differences in culture and conceptual thinking gives me great pause when I think about the even greater differences half a century ago. Over the previous two years I had made six trips to Tokyo for the client and finally was able to take some time off and go to Ohashi.

Ohashi is the site of an iron mine in Iwate prefecture which, in turn, is in Tohoku, the northern region of the main island of Honshu. Western visitors are rare there. Unlike Tokyo, few people speak English in this region and there are few English words on signage. I don’t speak Japanese but we managed with the few basic words I do know, sign language, and a Japanese phrase book. My interpreter in Tokyo was kind enough to call ahead to Kamaishi Kozan Co. (the current name of the enterprise at the iron mine where Dad was enslaved). She also wrote a note in Japanese explaining that I was traveling there to “honor my father’s memory”—a phrase that has meaning to a culture that reveres their ancestors. The Japanese Tourist Office (JTO) in Tokyo also helped by finding the accommodations nearest to Ohashi—a ryokan (Japanese Inn) in Kosano which was two train stops from Ohashi. The JTO also told us about a museum in Kamaishi, the largest city near Ohashi.

Easily enough we took the bullet train from Tokyo to Hanamaki—a three hour trip. Then it got difficult. We wanted to know when the train was going to depart for Kosano. After pointing to my watch and the map several times, the station attendant left his post and dashed off only to return with a booklet (in Japanese) that contained the train schedule for every JR train in Japan. I could recognize the times but had no idea of the stations to which they applied. That was when we began learning the Japanese characters (or kanji) for the cities we were visiting. We eventually learned that it was a two hour train ride to Kosano with many stops along the way. The train only had two cars and many school children got on and off. We were surprised that few people seemed to stare at us (unlike Kyoto and other places). The JTO had given me an English map of the region and I was able to follow the stops as we wound our way through the mountainous terrain. This map showed a place called Rikuchu-Ohashi but we were not yet sure this was the location of the mine.

Most of the information I had was kindly told to me by Jack Feliz, Dad’s best friend in prison camp. Very important to our journey were pictures I carried with me of the Ohashi camp and iron mine. Years ago I had obtained them from Otto Schwarz and other generous ex-POWs. These were invaluable for this journey. Although Ohashi has changed dramatically over the past 56 years or so, it was very exciting to be able to use the pictures to confirm that Rikuchu-Ohashi was indeed the place we were seeking. Several structures remain that are clearly visible in a couple of photos. As the train passed through the Rikuchu-Ohashi area, I was relieved to assure myself that it was indeed the right place!

First, however, we went to Kamaishi, the nearest city with hopes of gathering additional information about Ohashi. A coastal town, Kamaishi has two primary industries—fishing and an iron refinery. It also has a fairly primitive museum devoted to itself. With pictures in hand, we went to the museum and immediately met the curator who, of course, was curious about these “gaijin” or foreigners. He spoke no English at all so I showed him the Japanese message my interpreter had so kindly written as well as the pictures. His face showed recognition and he was clearly very eager to help. Apparently, the museum had many of the same pictures and a few others in storage and he retrieved them in moments. Their photos had been enlarged and dry-mounted on foam board. One of the enlarged photos was of a group of prisoners—I had seen this one many times before and knew that Dad was in the picture. I was completely overcome with emotion when I saw it. With tears streaming down my face I could only point to Dad’s image and whisper the word “chi-chi” which means “my father.” The curator stood there nodding and graciously allowed me my emotions. After a few moments he hurried back to the storage room and retrieved every picture he had of the camp and quickly flipped through them—he seemed to be hoping to find another image of Dad for me. No more of Dad. To my delight, however, there were two individual photos of other ex-POWs I have known: Jack Feliz (aka Big Snake or Uncle Jack) and Jess Stanbrough. I was deeply moved to see these pictures and recognize some people. I was also pleased that, although none of the pictures were on public display, they were well cared for. I had a few pictures that the museum did not have-- the curator eagerly photocopied them.

The museum itself was very junky and dusty. It seemed to be a collection of anything and everything from furniture to clothing. It was more like going to an indoor flea market with items—some neatly and some not so neatly—laid out on tables. Very little was behind glass. One of the more prominent displays showed pictures of the destruction to Kamaishi caused by the allied attacks in July and August of 1945. The curator managed to convey to me that 400 civilians lost their lives. I had not known before that allied ships had attacked Japan in such close proximity to Ohashi. Later I learned that there was a POW camp in Kamaishi and some allied POWs lost their lives during the bombing. The surviving POWs in Kamaishi were then sent to Ohashi for the remainder of the war.

Another interesting display was of antique iron teapots. While researching information about the region I learned that it is well known for two things—its folklore and its iron teapots. The folklore factors into the story later. The teapots are one of Japan’s traditional crafts. Now I could see for myself how important the teapots are to the area’s history. They come in many sizes and shapes. This was especially interesting to me because, while in Tokyo on this trip, our interpreter invited us to her home. Prominently displayed in her sparsely decorated home was a very large and lovely iron teapot (it probably cost over $500). This prominent display obviously meant that the teapot was very important to her. When I asked her about it, she told me that it came from the Kamaishi area and that she was impressed by the beauty and elegance of its shape. She was very surprised when I told her we were preparing to go to Kamaishi. Now when I see an iron teapot, especially an old one, I wonder if the iron came out of the Ohashi mine which is said to be the oldest iron mine in Japan, dating back to 1863.

Before we left the museum I was determined to find out the location of the prison camp or, at the very least, where it was in relation to the mine at Ohashi. My intent was to walk the same two mile route that Dad and his fellow prisoners walked every day for so long (rain, snow, or shine). The curator seemed to be very knowledgeable about these places so he was just the person to ask. However, my Japanese was worse than his English so I spent a long time pointing at pictures and at the map with no success. Finally, he disappeared for a few moments and returned with a young man who spoke only slightly more English than he did. I wasn’t going to leave until I had the information. We both persevered and I finally learned that there are no remaining traces of the camp and that it was located east of the mine. At least now we knew the direction in which to walk once we got to the mine.

Before we left, the curator asked for my name and address which, of course, I was happy to provide. He and his interpreter were extremely gracious and bowed very deeply as they saw us off. While in Kamaishi we decided to look for some iron goods to take home. We found what we were looking for and waited while each item we purchased was individually wrapped. When we inquired about mailing the items, the shopkeeper motioned for us to wait while they made some telephone calls. Eventually we learned that they had called someone who spoke English who then tried to help us but it all got very confusing so we decided to carry our bag full of iron. I thought it would make the rest of our journey too cumbersome but there was something fitting about being laden with a heavy load during the two mile trek we were to take from the mine to the campsite.

Next stop: Rikuchu Ohashi Station. We knew the mine was a short walk from the train station. As we walked we could see the foundations of what were once buildings lining either side of the road. We had a lovely view of the surrounding mountains and it was hard to imagine the view being obscured by so many buildings so long ago. As we neared the entrance to the mine complex, we could hear rushing water nearby. That was the first we realized that the mine and the road paralleled a river. As we looked at the beautiful rapids, I wondered if they had ever provided any solace to the POWs and if anything could.

Our contact at the mine was expecting us and she guided us to a museum in the main administration building. We decided that, with so much stuff on display, the company must have kept one of every item ever used or found in the mine complex. It seemed to display one of everything except anything related to the POW years. We could not find any maps or pictures of the mid 1940s. Nothing quite matched our pictures but certain telltale landmarks showed us that it was definitely the same place during different eras.

Dad had worked in the mine’s electrical shop repairing equipment as well as telephones and radios. One by one he would steal parts to build his own radio. He smuggled them out of the mine by concealing them in a false bottom under a Dutch hat he had acquired from a fellow prisoner who was Dutch. Of course, he would make sure that the telephones and radios he was repairing still worked. They just operated with one less transistor or one less of whatever part he needed and the Japanese would be none the wiser. As we looked around the museum we saw many old telephones and radios. We wondered how many of them were missing some parts.

We had difficulty communicating with our guide so she found someone who spoke a little bit of English to help us. We learned that many buildings dating back to WWII have been torn down. No one who worked there now knew anything about the mine during the war. Our hosts thought, but were not certain, that what used to be the electrical shop was still standing. They showed us the long dilapidated wooden building that now serves as storage. We took pictures from every angle and as we stood outside of the building I tried to memorize the views of the surrounding mountains knowing that Dad had seen much of the same view I was seeing (although I am told the weather was not usually as nice as it was the day we were there).

It was very hard to imagine what it must have been like to be a POW there. Now it is a very quiet place. We saw a total of three people, two of whom were escorting us. Iron, it turns out, is seldom mined there these days. The newest enterprise is bottling the Sen-nin Hisui brand of mineral water. I wasn’t sure whether or not to be happy about their gift of two one-liter bottles of Ohashi mineral water. Now we had two bottles to carry along with the iron goods we had purchased in Kamaishi. As we departed, they told us they would remember us for a long time because it was so rare to have foreign visitors. I knew I would never forget them or the mine complex.

I wanted to walk the two miles to camp and retrace the steps the POWs took every day no matter the weather conditions. During the walk we had a hard time comprehending what it must have been like in four feet of snow as is so often the weather in that region.

From the mine we headed east along the main road with the intention of finding where the camp was located. The only clues we had were two pictures that showed the shape of the mountains behind the camp. The road followed the river and we admired the beauty of the mountains. They were like steep green mounds that rose from the valley floor. They were so steep that there were seldom any buildings on them. Although we saw clearcutting in a few places, most of the mountains were covered with lush green forest. Along the roadside we discovered wildflowers we had never seen before.

After a couple of miles we came to a cemetery in an area now called Dosen. I remembered stories about a cemetery that the POWs passed every day as they marched to the mines and I thought that it was near the camp. As a result of walking by the cemetery daily, the POWs discovered that the Japanese guards were afraid of ghosts because they would always make a lot of noise as they walked by. The belief in and fear of ghosts in this region turns out to be part of the folklore that is told today. Uncle Jack was able to successfully use this fear as he stood lookout when Dad was building the radio (in the latrine). If a guard approached, Jack would make sounds like a ghost which would simultaneously scare the guard off and warn Dad.

We compared our photos to the mountains near the cemetery but could not be certain we were in the right place. It was hard to be sure of the right place to stand to get the angles in the photos. It was, however, the best match we had seen or would see. There were a few houses and a concrete factory was in the background. When we saw an elderly woman walking we stopped and showed her the photographs hoping that she might have been a little girl at the time and recognize it. Our communication was terrible so we were disappointed not to learn anything helpful.

I was confident that we were in the right place. Jack later confirmed that it was.

After trying to imprint the sights in our memories, we continued walking another two miles with the idea that we would come across a train station. The train station never appeared and eventually we caught a bus back to Kosano. With the help of many kind people, we had accomplished our goal! My journey, begun so long ago, was complete. I felt close to my Dad again for a short while and was so happy that Obie could be there to share it with me.

Some related websites:
This one has a picture of the train station at Rikuchu-Ohashi as well as of the mines:
http://www.seaple.icc.ne.jp/~nkoizumi/kamaishi4.htm

Information on the mineral water enterprise:
http://www.sennin-hisui.com/ [Keep clicking on the links on the left side of the main page and you will see pictures of the museum in the old administrative building(about the 11th link down) and one of the mountains surrounding the mine (about the 12th link down).]

http://www.nittetsukou.co.jp/miningconcession/pdf/cp2002a.pdf (see page 10 on Natural Water-- it’s in English!)

General information about Kamaishi:
http://www.city.kamaishi.iwate.jp/english/overview.htm

Documents describing the US attacks on Kamaishi:
http://polyticks.com/bbma/friendly_fire.htm
http://www.dtic.mil/doctrine/jel/jfq_pubs/2109.pdf
http://www.geocities.com/Pentagon/Quarters/7858/log/shipslog8.html