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OREGON VOICES
They Also Served
A Soldier's Pacific Theater Album, World War II
by Frederick H. Hill
with George Venn and Jan Boles
| BORN IN 1920 IN ELGIN, Oregon, photographer Fred Hill grew up in a family that loved cameras, darkrooms, and black-and-white prints. His grandfather had worked with glass-plate negatives, and he had taught Fred's mother how to develop and print her own pictures. By the time Fred turned eleven, his father Lynn, who ran the local hardware store, and his mother Etha, a teacher and homemaker, had cleared a space in their cellar, and their boy was making contact prints. Down in that darkroom one day, Fred mustered the courage to develop his first roll of personal film, and that process launched his seventy-year quest for memorable, useful, and beautiful images.1 |
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Attending Eastern Oregon University in La Grande between 1938 and 1940, the novice photographer carried his camera everywhere. During the summer of 1940, Hill met and befriended Minor White — later an internationally famous fine-art photographer — who was then teaching his first photography classes at the Works Progress Administration Art Center in La Grande. Using the Hill family car, White and Hill photographed northeast Oregon together — more as fellow freelance photographers than as teacher and student. After White left La Grande in November 1941, he continued to correspond with Etha Hill, Fred's mother, and in February 1945, the two young photographers met again on Mindoro, the Philippine island where now Sargeant White was serving in Army 24th Infantry Intelligence and Sargeant Hill was working in 5th Air Force Photo Reconnaissance. At their February 1945 meeting, they discussed photography, took photographs of orchids, and talked about enrolling in a California art school after the war.2 |
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In July 1940, Hill joined the 41st Division National Guard unit in La Grande. Once a week, his infantry unit drilled at the armory for three hours until, on September 16, 1940, everything changed. National Guard units were federalized, and Private Hill became a full-time soldier in the U.S. Army. Though he insisted he was a photographer, the army placed Hill in an infantry mortar squad and shipped him to Fort Lewis, Washington, for training. After asserting for fifteen months that he was, in fact, a photographer, in November 1941, a month before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, the army finally transferred Hill to the new Oregon National Guard 123rd Observation Squadron at the fort's Gray Airfield.3 |
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Fred Hill included this photograph of the 17th Photo Section posing on their foxhole cover in Dulag, Leyete, in his January 10, 1945, letter to his wife: (From left) Sgt. Van Reimer, Cpl. Dick Baxter, Pvt. A.J. Countryman, Pvt. Walt Peters (medic), Sgt. Fred Hill, and Sgt. Ed Bernardo.
All photographs courtesy of the author
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In May 1942, Hill married his sweetheart Martha Simonson at her parents' home in Tacoma. For the next seven months, he flew as an observer on coastal submarine patrol, photographed the camouflage of Coast Guard units, worked in various offices, and — as always — recorded the world around him with his camera. In December, Private Hill was transferred to a base in Salinas, California, where the army assigned him to the 17th Tactical Reconnaissance Squadron, 5th Air Force. Eventually, the squadron got its orders, and the men moved to training bases in Louisiana and Mississippi. |
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On October 6, 1943, they boarded the SS General John Pope in Newport News, Virginia, and sailed for the South Pacific front. For some time, official opinion had generally agreed that "the military organization with the most efficient photographic reconnaissance would win the war."4 Fred Hill would contribute to that victory. |
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Fred and Martha Simonson were photographed on their wedding day in Tacoma, Washington.
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Hill served as an aerial photo reconnaissance lab chief in the Pacific Theater. Like the men in other such squadrons, he and his crew set up and operated darkrooms to process the photographs brought back by squadron planes that flew over Japanese-held territory. Sometimes, if American anti-aircraft guns fired three red warning flares over their tents, they ran for their foxholes, but if these darkroom soldiers were to provide critical target and topographic photographs to commanders and pilots, they had to be removed from combat. |
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Like thousands of other support troops who survived World War II, Sgt. Fred Hill never fired a shot in combat.5 His only weapon was accurate, clear aerial photographs; his front line the darkroom tent; his enemies dust, heat, fatigue, sickness, loneliness, insects, boredom, faulty equipment, military life, KP. To survive that perpetual chaos, Hill found a way to share, preserve, and order his inner life. He wrote regularly to Martha — sometimes, twice a day. |
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On November 4, 1943, the day he landed at Milne Bay to the heat, sweat, native drums, mud, papaya, mosquitoes, and malaria of tropical New Guinea, he sent his first letter to Martha. Over the next two years, he sent some 315 more, letters always censored by the army, letters Martha still read, responded to, and saved. After the war, she sorted and tied them with string and, leaving most in their original envelopes, stored them in a plywood box with other war memorabilia. Now, sixty years later, the letters have been transcribed and edited, and excerpts appear for the first time in the following pages. They constitute one part of Hill's Pacific Theater album — a rich, personal, and intimate correspondence from an Oregon soldier to his wife. |
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Hill's album is also rich with the many photographs he collected during his time in the Pacific Theater.6 As he and his lab crew moved north from Milne Bay toward Japan, they processed up to thousands of aerial photographs. During their all-night shifts, they watched for compelling images, which they sometimes copied and saved: bombing runs, enemy fortifications, bomb damage, and significant events such as the February 16, 1945, landing on Corregidor of the 503rd Parachute Infantry. Copies of these official images make up another part of Hill's Pacific Theater album. |
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Fred Hill (above) works with his A-3 camera, purchased from Bass Camera in Chicago. Using unexposed ends of K-17 film, Hill could make 3-×-5" photos. Sgt. Roy Wolford (left) holds a K-17 Fairchild aerial reconnaissance camera without the film magazine attached.
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Sometimes, other soldiers or photographers asked Hill's darkroom crew to develop personal film for them. If Hill saw an intriguing or potentially compelling image, he saved an extra print or two for his collection. Sometimes, he asked other photo lab workers, visitors, or Filipinos to take pictures with his camera — pictures of groups, of individuals, and of Fred himself. In his published work, Hill refers to all these photographs as the "Fred Hill Collection." |
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Throughout his two-year deployment with the 17th Tactical Reconnaissance Squadron, Hill also regularly sent Martha another part of the Pacific Theater album — his own black-and-white photographs. While stationed on New Guinea for eight months, Hill and his fellow soldiers frequently used their days off to make personal photo expeditions: on bases, in local towns and villages, around the countryside. From Japanese wreckage to beautiful ammunition, from native dancers to army fishermen, Hill recorded both military and civilian life. Moving to the island of Biak, he photographed warplanes, drilling wells, blasting latrines, Bob Hope, Frances Langford, darkroom set-up and tear-down, beautiful WACS, Queen Wilhelmina's birthday dancers. Arriving on Leyte in October 1944, he shot photographs of Philippine carabao, cockfights, outriggers, native women, folk art. By war's end, Hill had accumulated over six hundred black-and-white photos.7 |
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Eight .50 caliber machine guns were mounted in the bombadier's compartment in this B-25J. With two packet guns mounted on sides of the fuselage and the top turret gun locked in forward position, this photo reconnaissance plane could also engage in effective strafing attacks.
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Many of those images were made possible by an unlikely source — aerial reconnaissance film for the K-17 camera. This film came in rolls ten inches wide by up to two hundred feet long. After a mission, Hill's crew brought the magazine of exposed film to the photo lab, and in total darkness, they cut off the exposed portion of the film to be developed, printed, annotated, and delivered to commanders. When there were only ten exposures left on a roll, they discarded that tag end and installed a new two-hundred-foot roll to be loaded in the plane for the next mission. Wasting that end of unexposed film — perhaps ten feet long by ten inches wide — "tore our hearts out," Hill remembered.8 So he and four other men invented a slitter, cut the aerial film into three and one quarter inch strips, wound those strips onto film spools, and installed the salvaged film in Kodak A-3 cameras ordered from the States. Blocking out the red window on the back of the camera, they calibrated and recorded the number of turns required to advance the film to the next exposure.9
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| HILL'S PACIFIC THEATER collection — letters, official aerial photos, copied photos, personal photos, movies, artifacts — may be most readily appreciated by focusing on his three months on Mindoro, the Philippine island where he served from January 7 to April 4, 1945. On workdays, he photographed mechanics, weapons, planes, and pilots. On days off, he and his friends found a jeep and left the base to capture local civilian life — fishing, farming, landscapes — and visited locals such as James Aubi, who invited Hill to his home on Ambulong Island. Frequently, he used three cameras on a single outing: a Zeiss Super Nettel, an 8mm Revere movie camera, and a Kodak A-3 (postcard camera). He also planned a photo marketing project and joined the Photographic Society of America. During a wildcat leave in Manila, he delivered canned milk to a Filipino family with a baby and talked with journalist Roberto Villanueva about opening a post-war studio there.10 |
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Fred Hill's print crew works in the darkroom: (front to back) Sgt. Earl Powers at the contact printer, Pvt. A.J. Countryman at the developer tray (the "Souper"), and Corp. Oakley Scott at the fixer tray (the "Splasher").
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During those three months, Martha Hill found ways to sustain her distant husband. After working on the construction of war planes all day at Boeing in Seattle, she bought, packed, and shipped nine used Kodak cameras that Hill re-sold to soldiers. She mailed orange juice, newspapers, maps, sunglasses, cookies, and, most important, cans of movie film for his Revere and rolls of 35mm color film. |
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When Hill returned from his wildcat leave in Manila, his cot was stacked: eleven letters and a pile of packages — all from Martha. In his thirty-eight letters from Mindoro, he professed his love, dreamed of houses, bathrooms, children, and clean water. He sent Martha money orders from the used camera sales, a Philippine newspaper, a risque cartoon, and many black-and-white prints with a list of enclosures. An army censor removed his photo of Major Shomo, a famous fighter pilot doing a "Victory Roll" — one complete rotation before landing to signal the shooting down of a Japanese plane. In early March, he sent her a box of souvenirs, his negatives file, and all his slides and prints. Martha saved everything. After the atomic destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6 and 9 and the Japanese surrender on August 15, Hill sailed home to Seattle and Martha. |
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These selections from Hill's Pacific Theater album have been taken from "Darkroom Soldier," a book-length manuscript in progress. Excerpted from Hill's letters and selected from over a hundred black-and-white prints, these largely unknown Mindoro and Manila images and texts provide an important and rich personal record of endurance and humane understanding in a time of war.
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December 30, 1944: San Pedro Bay Beach, Leyte Gulf
Hello Darling–
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We're about one hundred yards from the beach. Black sand everywhere in shoes, clothes, barracks bags, blankets, even mess kits. Any breeze picks up light sand and deposits it everywhere. There are three Filipino homes about thirty feet from here. We are camped in their front yard — so to speak. We go swimming in the surf. |
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We were told that we could say we were at sea on an LST, but we aren't. However, LST's are very nice. I always thought they were just empty shells, but no, they are very complete ships. Nice quarters and facilities. First ice water I've had since Finschhaven and the first lavatories and good lighted mirrors since the USS John Pope. And the toilets were the first land-type jobs with levers to pull since we left Virginia. Good meals too. Risdon and I spent a couple of nights on deck, and it rained both nights, but we were well-sheltered. |
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This episode of ours [grounding and reloading LST 626] is humorous — now that we look back on it. While we're here, I'm going to try to get some shots of local people at home with my telephoto lenses. Today, I got them washing clothes with well water. Also, a woman bathing. They put on sort of a heavy slip with no straps and wash right through it. They soap it up, rub themselves with it, and then pour water over their heads to rinse off. Put a dress on, drop the slip, and step out of it. |
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Hill recorded the U.S. Navy miscalculation at Leyte that might have saved his life. Preparing to load this LST, the navy captain beached 626 too high. After being loaded, not even a navy tug and other LSTs could pull the ship off the sand. Hill and the 71st Group soldiers watched their assigned convoy sail for Mindoro, then camped on San Pedro Beach and began to unload the boat. While Hill's squadron spent a hot week unloading, refloating, relanding, and reloading LST 626, Japanese planes attacked their convoy, bombed and sank several LSTs, and blew up an ammunition ship. When they sailed for Mindoro on January 3, the convoy was watched by only one Japanese observation plane.
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McGuire Airdrome outside San Jose was a temporary base for the B-25s of Hill's 17th Tactical Reconnaissance Squadron. To build these bright runways and taxi strips, army engineers crushed, spread, and compacted tons of white coral. Mindoro Strait is in the background.
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Some of these people are just as nice as any you'd meet back in the States. They wear wooden sandals with carved, built-up heels. Many white dresses. Don't know how they keep them so snowy white, but they are spotless. So are their homes. |
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Honey, this is the end of this year and I had figured only eleven more months, but with Germany still holding out so vigorously, I'm beginning to wonder if "Golden Gate in '48" isn't a more logical slogan. I'd hate to only come home for twenty one days, then have to come back overseas again.
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January 10, 1945, San Jose, Mindoro
Hello Sweetheart–
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Whew! It's hot. This place is matted dry grass and scattered trees that look like scrub oaks. Our camp is on top of a hill; there are valleys on three sides about fifty feet below. Not a tree in our area, but there does seem to always be a breeze. Drinking water isn't bad, and it cools off pretty much at night. Humidity isn't very high, and evaporation is good. Rather discouraged about getting our Section set up. No tents or tent poles. We have big tarps, but no lumber or poles to build frames. Practically no bamboo. Practically no bananas. |
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Our tent has the same occupants as before: Ugly Bernardo, Second Ugly Baxter, and Third Ugliest — me.Useless Pete the Medic, Carabao Eyes (Elsie) Reimer, and the AJ Countryman. What an assortment. You have the pix I sent of all of us on our foxhole cover at Dulag. That should show you the horrors of war! |
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Down in the valley to the east is a pasture and swamp where carabao and Brahma steers graze. There is a white heron that feeds right beside the animals — even fly up and ride on the backs of the carabao. Could have gotten it with the long telephoto, but the light was no good, and I don't have a tripod unpacked. |
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No showers yet. The boys are digging a well. They took three trucks and took us three miles to the river for a swim and wash. Thigh-deep river and unsuccessful swimming. Had some strong cheap soap at the time, and as I bent over to submerge and rinse my hair, some soap ran into my right nostril. So irritated those delicate membranes that my nostril has dripped clear water for the last two days and my head aches right above the bridge of my nose.
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January 11, 1945, San Jose, Mindoro
(same envelope)
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Am marked "Quarters" today. Last night, had fever of 102.2. This a.m., it was 99.6. Now, it is sub-normal. Will probably be up towards night. Dengue fever. Will last three days at most. Probably go back to work tomorrow. Been taking aspirin and codeine. |
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They are digging a well. Down eighteen feet through red and blue clay by noon. I've heard three blasts since then, and they still haven't hit water. If they ever do hit a vein of sand or gravel, they'll be more water than we can use. |
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Sergeant Hill copied and saved this aerial photograph of Allied bombing during the Philippines campaign.
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Fred Hill (center) watches 17th Photo Section men play chess. Waiting for their planes to return, the soldiers had time to read, take pictures, and play games. Once they had unloaded film from the planes, they often worked all night.
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January 14–15, 1945, San Jose, Mindoro
Hello My Precious–
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Have been playing chess much of late. We have a heavy board and some of those neat molded plastic chess men. I have whopped Bernardo, Gertz, and Robbins pretty consistently. Robbins continually tries to pull "Scholar's Mate" on me! Tsk! Tsk! Do I know some blocks for that one. |
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I had to go help Bernardo get cameras ready for tomorrow's mission, and when I got back the lights were out. Oh well. I was nearly through writing anyway. |
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Not much happened today. We got the lab a little nearer ready for operation. Got the print dryer assembled and the command post tent, which serves us as a make-shift printing room, is practically ready to go. We still have to use the little one-man igloo developing room with zipper opening. Not high enough to stand up in and mercilessly hot. I guess I told you about those igloos before — when we were forced to use them at Finschhaven. |
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Van and Price took today's film over to the 82nd to get processed. They have one of the fancy new portable labs. There are quite a number of them around, but we'd never get one. We've had one on requisition since last April, renewed each month. |
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You know, we've never had a lab that would take care of any production. These igloos are from airborne units designed to operate in a flying plane, so you can imagine their output capacity. We have turned out over 2,000 prints in one night on several occasions, but always from labs we've built — never from any prefabricated set up that we could take with us. It's always the same story: build, build, build, then tear down and move, then build, build, build. Of course, it does add variety: never the same layout twice. |
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Beat Bernardo to a bloody pulp at noon today with chess. Honey girl, I dream only of the days I'll be with you again and for the happy times there will be eating ice in lemon Cokes, sherbet, iced tea, and lots and lots of loving. Then, an after-dinner mint or two and some swimming.
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January 29, 1945, San Jose, Mindoro
Hello My Darling–
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Baxter bought a monkey today for $35.00. Tame friendly fellow. Likes to throw the local dogs for a loop. Right now, he's lonesome and raising a hell of a fuss trying to get me to come and play with him. Everyone else has gone to the show, "Guy Named Joe." The monkey was asleep when Baxter left. Now he wants to play, and I'm much too busy writing to you. |
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Darn monkey is just like a baby. I just put him to sleep like I did Marjorie lots of times. Held him until he quieted down, then gradually shifted him to a folded blanket. Kept rubbing him and talking to him until I could get completely away from him. Surely an affectionate critter. Gets mighty lonesome for companionship. |
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Here are four pix: the orderly room at 72 with bulletin board; our present operations tent; our shower, showing the valley to the east; and women washing clothes in the river. |
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Jocko, Baxter's new pet monkey, searches Fred's hair for any delicacy.
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February 5, 1945, San Jose, Mindoro
Hello Sweetheart–
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Mosquitoes are plenty thick tonight. Khakis aren't thick enough — they bite right through it. Seems good to have Bob back again. Have missed his superb line of bullshit. It's good even when you know it's stretched. There is a small rat snooping around under Baxter's sack. He watches me from behind a box and occasionally ventures out in the open. |
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Today was an outstanding day. Major General Whitehead presented awards and medals to members of flight crews of this squadron. Think I have some good shots of it. Took eight slides and half a roll of Kodachrome — the last and only roll of Kodachrome I have. Took the roll out and put the black and white back in the camera. So, I am sweating out packages of film — from any source. |
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Those three lenses began paying for themselves today. From one point, I shot all the staff and a man being decorated and a couple of still photographs. Then, changing lenses, I got just the General and one of our crew members. Changing again, I got just the upper part of the two men showing the General shaking hands with the man he decorated. Later, I got head and shoulders only of General Whitehead as he gave the entire squadron a congratulatory talk. Then, some very informal shots. All in all, an event worthy of the color film and a day well-spent. The General drives his own jeep, and I got him climbing in and driving away. Sure do like this Revere camera.
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February 8, 1945, San Jose, Mindoro, The Philippines
Hello Sweetheart–
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Today has been a very red-colored one for me. Back at Finschhaven and henceforth, the Wing's crash boat has been taking men fishing. Each day, so many men are taken — a different squadron every time. I've missed it every time. This time, Sergeant Orlando won the privilege for Photo Section. Late last night, Orlando asked me if I wanted to go in his place. He was too tired, and it required arising at 5:00 a.m. Sure thing! I leapt at the chance. So, after lights out, I got ready. Reloaded the 3-A and threw in an extra roll of Kodachrome. |
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Maj. Gen. Ennis Whitehead (center) visited the camp to award medals to flight crews for distinguished past service. Whitehead talks here with Master Sgt. Robert Lincoln Barlow (left), a twenty-eight-year veteran. Maj. Joel C. Wise, commander of the newly decorated 17th Reconnaissance Squadron and Hill's immediate supervisor, stands and listens.
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James Aubi's sister bathes her daughter on Ambulong Island, Mindoro Strait.
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We got to the crash boat about day break. Nice boat — about a thirty-five foot job. Four men at a time could troll off the stern. About two miles out, they slowed down to trolling speed. No luck. I really didn't intend to do any fishing — unless they were really biting — rather do it with cameras. Later, we headed for a coral reef and an island. I took a couple of shots (35mm) from the boat showing beach and palms and sky. Near a small barrio, we dropped anchor to fish with drop lines. A couple of civilians paddled out to talk to us. I got one of them to take me ashore. |
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Bonanza! He — James Aubi — took me to his home, offered me cigarettes, showed me his album. Before the war, he had a 120 camera and has nice pix. I met his wife and daughter, took their pix. Took pix around the house with 3A and color. Got some beautiful flowering vines in color. At a neighboring house, his brother-in- law and the kids were taking baths. Have a shot of Mother bathing a little girl just big enough to walk. So cute. Then a little boy, bawling his eyes loose. Pix around canoes, other houses, old people, boy bathing, house with pigs around, etc. Then back to Aubi's house where he gave me some pretty shells. I tried my best to buy them — but no. The only thing I could give him was a package of gum. Then, he rowed me back out to the crash boat. Very well-spent time. |
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Mangyan tribesmen (possibly Hanunoo) wear traditional dress (above) — a bahag (loincloth), a bayong (bag for knife, comb, and so forth), and a panyo (head-band for long hair). Hill and his friends traded buns for the watermelon carried by the man on the right. Fred Hill (third from left, below) enjoys a picnic lunch with an unidentified soldier; Clara Cohen, a Red Cross Nurse; and Charles Ehrman, a soldier with the 49th Fighter Group.
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February 17, 1945, San Jose, Mindoro
Hello My Precious Darling–
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Tuesday was a day off and I went on a trip toward the mountains. Ehrman, Billy Cox (mess sgt.), a guide, and Clara Cohen of the local Red Cross took off with a picnic lunch and ten cameras. There is certainly a lot of gorgeous mountain and prairie scenery here. Little hills — half a mile long, two-hundred feet high and perhaps two-hundred feet thick — rise almost vertically out of a level, kunai grass-covered plain. Some high and extremely rugged saw-toothed mountains stick up midst old round-topped, worn-down hills. |
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I hoped we would run onto a village of some of the real natives — but no. However, we did see four men walking along the road. Wore the scantiest of breech clouts and chewed betel nut just like the New Guinea people. We traded them some buns for a watermelon. Clara and I ate part of the melon. Others were scared to try it. It was small and round — maybe eight inches in diameter. Meat was white but seeds were real and the taste was sort of there. (Damn these fluctuating lights. Makes my head ache. Alternates bright to dim about every three seconds. Very disgusting.) |
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We ate our lunch on the bank of the river in the shade of some juniper type trees. We were far enough up to be away from GI's. Nothing military around except our jeep and the uniforms we wore. Had boned-chicken sandwiches and strawberry jam sandwiches, fresh buns, an unfrosted chocolate cake, fresh butter, and I had a can of Mother's watermelon rind preserves. Cox brought along the little gas stove and a little white enameled percolator. What a war! Up in the high timber with a swell bunch, an American girl, and for the day, at least, not a care in the world.
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February 25, 1945, San Jose, Mindoro
Hello My Darling–
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This morning I mailed you a letter with a couple of money orders, then I got shaved and rode to town with Clara of the Red Cross. She took me over to see Minor. Nice of her, but it was only a hundred yards out of her way. |
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Minor is like a good dose of Carter's little pills — leaves you refreshed and changed. We had a long bull session. His is a rare form of humor. Thoroughly enjoyed my visit with him. Had dinner — Vienna sausage, green beans, and pears and bread. Sat in the dust to eat. Pears looked like I'd peppered them, so I turned them over. Ha! |
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Took in an orientation lecture on today's war moves on all fronts. Not bad, but sweetheart, if I see you by Christmas this year, it will probably be on a furlough — not at home for keeps. |
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Found — thanks to Minor — a tiny orchid in a tree and Minor helped me shoot a pic of it. Fear it will be blurred, for I was standing on tiptoe to reach and shooting at 10 and 3/4ths. Minor is thinking about taking a night course at the Art Center after this mess is cleared up. Thinks he's too old for GI bill of rights. |
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In 1940, Fred Hill and Minor White met as civilians in La Grande, Oregon, where White was teaching photography at the local WPA Art Center. The two men became friends, photographed the region together, and then both went to war. Hill took this photo of White when they visited on February 25, 1945. After the war, White's eastern Oregon images launched his career as a fine arts photographer.
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March 4, 1945, San Jose, Mindoro
Hi Sweetheart–
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This morning Casey and Powers got me out of the sack to go out sightseeing with cameras. No, I went to church, thanks to them getting me up. But at 10:15 we took off. Bob with the Nettel. Stuck gum and fruit bars (from K Rations) in our pockets and prepared to be gone all day. Hitched a ride to the air strip, took a pic or two, then took out for the high kunai grass [and] some farms. |
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Had to cross the river and Bob and Powers took off their shoes. Not me. It's a waste of time, so I plowed off through the stream. Others sort of hobbled across two branches of the stream, so they dried their feet and put on their shoes. Just over a rise was another fork of the stream, and then another. Casey said. "To hell with it," and waded in with me, but not Powers. Off came his shoes again. We took some carabao shots, then some of a farm house, then the three women put on their best dresses and came out for a picture. Gad, such finery. A couple of American style dresses that made me homesick. |
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En route home, we stopped at the deep part of the river for a swim. Couple of dozen men swimming. Sign downstream reads, "No Nude Bathing." I saw one pair of shorts. Two hundred yards down the river, the Filipino women do GI laundry. AJ told his Mrs. about that place, and she is sending him some shorts. Says she doesn't want all those Filipino hussies eyeing all she possesses.... |
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A mother and her children cross a slough at Dulag, Leyete, passing a log (lower left) that Philippine women used for washing GI and personal laundry. Hill sent many such photographs to Martha, knowing that they would be passed along by army censors.
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Sending you a pic of Ehrman (the nose) and Lois at a corn feed they had at 49th one evening. (Ehrman is a nosey so and so to boot.) Also a Filipino trio crossing the slough by our camp at Dulag. Skein of hemp on her head. And the latest of Countryman-Hill shots. Taken with Baxter's camera southeast corner of our tent. Surprising how homey a tent can become after a few months. Oh boy, oh boy — I'm waiting for that real home complete with all the fixtures and you to share it with me. What a wonderful invention a bathroom is. It will probably take me some time to get house broken again.
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March 7, 1945, San Jose, Mindoro
Hello Sweetheart–
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Music — GI Jive coming over our headset speaker. Plenty nice. Oh how it helps our morale for a quick-made speaker job. Bernardo did himself up proud. We've decided to make our tent a little more like home. As long as we have to live here. So, we'll probably have to leave now that we've decided to fix up our abode. |
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Understand that the officers are beginning construction of an Officers' Club. Guess they don't feel right about coming to the Red Cross Blue Room, although some of them do. Mostly flight officers come; they don't feel the distinction between the officers and enlisted men quite as sharply as our older ground officers. We, at least, feel more at ease over there if it is all enlisted people. But back to the original thought: At Finschhaven, the officers got a nice club built, had a couple of dances, invited the local contingent of nurses, and we pulled out of there immediately. |
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Ed just took an inventory of our set up: we have a drop parachute canopy to keep the tent cool and light; two stoves for cooking; the radio extension; a switch on our lights; two water cans; and a collection of characters to provide the floor show. Chess players drift in and out. And — the monkey. |
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Today came your four letters of February 15, 18, 19, and 22. I too am surprised that the picture I sent you of Major Bong was removed from my letter by the censor. Please honey, any time anything is missing from my letters, note if the envelope has been cut open and resealed with tape. It should also have an extra censor's stamp — if it has been opened. That would indicate a spot check by some base censor. Have any of my letters been so resealed? They wouldn't necessarily remove any enclosures to spot check it. |
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Granted a three-day, unofficial "wildcat" leave from Mindoro, Fred Hill and Dick Baxter hitched rides in planes and trucks to photograph post-liberation Manila. Standing in an upper window of an empty building, Hill took this photograph of Filipinos as they bathed, washed, and cleaned up at a hydrant that had escaped the bombing and still flowed clean water.
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Hill took photographs of local people that he became friendly with in the Philippines, including Corazon and Roberto Villanueva (left). He and Baxter met the couple through Captain Price of the 49th Fighters and an AP photographer. As a gift, the soldiers brought the baby canned milk, and Roberto's brother, Rudolph, showed the visitors the city. The two soldiers later met Alberto Abaya and his wife (right).
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March 18–19, 1945, Manila, Luzon
Hello Sweetheart–
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The Villanuevas are a very wealthy Filipino family. The elder, Mr. Manuel H. Villanueva, was ten years the equivalent of a district attorney. Two of his sons (and a cousin), Roberto and Rudolph , are writers on the Post staff. Daughters Manuelita and Estralita are stenographers at present working in General Headquarters offices. They are both skilled pianists and there are two pianos in the house. The Abayas are living at the house too. Mrs. Abaya and Mrs. Roberto Villanueva are sisters. |
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Mr. Abaya is a civil engineer and was my choice of friends there. Such an interesting and understanding conversationalist. I was discussing with him post-war business opportunities here. Seems to be the finest situation I've yet considered. So, I discussed price of land, building material, food, labor, commodities. At the Villanueva estate, they have several gas refrigerators, three radios, a phonograph — any and all American facilities. Streetcar fare was around three cents to downtown Manila. Gasoline was twenty six cents a gallon. Good theatres. Nicer than the Roxy. Practically the entire populous speaks English. |
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Hill's collection includes many photographs of Philippine towns and activities, including this one of women selling their wares at the Dagupan public market.
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Mr. Abaya tells me that American families usually have a combination cook and houseboy who is provided with room and meals and is paid seven to ten pesos a month — if the family is thrifty. But separate cook, maid, houseboy, and chauffeur are also common. |
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After I get out of Art Center and if competition in the photo business on the west coast is no different than it was, well, getting a job with Eastman would be worth looking into. There is a big Kodak store maintained in Manila. These people are great supporters for a portrait studio, but that requires a lot of fixtures. I'm wondering about a commercial photographer set up here.
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March 22, 1945, San Jose, Mindoro
Hello My Precious–
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Best pictures we got were at the public market at a small town in one of the provinces. Rows and rows of little booths where outlying farmers come in and sell their wares. All kinds of vegetables — Bermuda onions at two pesos a bunch or turnips at five centavos a bunch. Dried corn, rice, flour, bananas, peppers, mangoes, clothing, cloth, wooden shoes, thread, buttons, snaps, needles, and fish — dried or alive — crabs, shrimp, etc. Ready-to-eat meals, pastries, sugar. |
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Now this was a lulu: the sugar is boiled down molasses — brown and very thick. It was displayed in open-topped five gallon containers. Customers stuck their fingers in to sample it and test for viscosity. Customers brought their own containers — no dipper. The dealer filled the can by handfuls.... |
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Then, out in the open and away from the booths, Hindus were bargaining off remnants of printed cloth, baskets, wicker wear, and pottery. Dick Baxter bought a water jug — fifty centavos. Pigs, chickens, horse and carabao shoes, horse shoe nails, and related hardware. Dick bought a knife — bargained from fifteen pesos down to nine. I got a pair of carved shoes for Marjorie, two linen tablecloths for us. |
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Notes
George Venn read all of Hill's 315 letters to Martha and selected, transcribed, and edited the excerpts published here from the "Darkroom Soldier" manuscript. Jan Boles, Albertson College of Idaho, selected the photographs published here. Timothy Lucas, Bushwhack Graphics, La Grande, scanned and digitized Hill's images for both this article and "Darkroom Soldier." Since the project began in 2004, manuscript preparation has been aided by a 2006 grant from the Union County Cultural Trust, gifts from Dr. Lyle Schwarz of Eastern Oregon University, Hill family members, and the good will and patience of Verna Hill and Marie Balaban.
1. Fred Hill, unpublished interviews with George Venn, 2004–2007.
2. See Fred Hill, "When I Knew Minor White," History of Photography, 16: 2 (Summer, 1992): 147–51; and George Venn, "Rider in the Wilderness: Minor White in La Grande 1940–41," Calapooya Literary Review 2 (Spring, 2004): 21–26. Both pieces include photographs.
3. From Fred Hill, "Memories of Military." Unpublished 1-page manuscript given to his children with the gift of Robert P. Nichols and Katherine Sams Wiley, The Strafin' Saints: The 71st Tactical Reconnaissance Group Memories of their Service in the Pacific Theater 1943–1945 (Houston, Tex.: no publisher, 1994), which includes thirty-six black/white photos by Hill and from the Fred Hill Collection.
4. Roy Stanley, World War II Photo Intelligence (New York: Scribners, 1981), 2.
5. At peak strength in World War II, the United States military deployed 12,300,000 individuals. Oregonians made up 148,039 of that number. Of that total American force, 292,131 died in combat. Oregonians made up 2,826 of those dead. Among the 12,007,869 Americans who survived World War II and became veterans were 140,699 Oregonians. See John R. Elting, GI–World War II Commemoration: "Costs, Casualties and Other Data," http://www.grolier.com (accessed January 23, 2007); Gordon Dodds, The American Northwest: A History of Oregon and Washington (Arlington Heights, Ill.: Forum Press, 1986), 262; Laura Mosher, fax to author, United States Military Academy March 28, 2007; United States Army in World War II: The Army Ground Forces (Washington, D.C.: Department of the Army, 1947), 169.
6. Hill divided a 2004 inventory of his World War II archive into three sections: "Fred Hill to Martha Simonson Hill Letters (1943–1945)," which includes 315 original handwritten and typed texts, with original envelopes, enclosures, etc; "U.S. Army/Fred Hill Photo Collection," which includes about 40 images by anonymous Army photographers in four sets of photographs (bombed Manila, the 503rd paratroop drop on Corregidor, "Grab shots" by aerial photographers, and aircraft nose art); and "Fred Hill Personal Photo Collection," which includes photographs taken by Fred Hill and his squadron photographers during 1943–1945, while in the United States, on board four different ships, and at Army and civilian sites in New Guinea, Netherlands East Indies, The Philippines, and the Ryukyu Islands. The collection contains 300 black-and-white prints, 600 black-and-white negatives, and 700 to 800 35 mm color slides. These estimates do not include pre-1943 photos, 8mm movies, Army propaganda leaflets in Japanese, and other artifacts.
7. For Hill's published black-and-white photographs, see John W. Casey, Warriors Without Weapons: Triumph of the Tech Reps (Corvallis, Ore.: Premiere Editions, 2004), 44, 87; Evelyn Whitfield, Three Year Picnic: An American Woman's Life Inside Japanese Prison Camps in The Philippines During WWII (Corvallis, Ore.: Premiere Editions, 1999 and 2002), 69, 106; Hampton Sides, Ghost Soldiers (New York: Doubleday, 2001), 4, 118–19; Michael John Claringbould, Forty of the Fifth: The Life, Times and Demise of Forty U.S. Fifth Air Force Aircraft (Kingston, Australia: bbbbrothentic Publications, 1999), 23, 27, 84, 88, 94; Robert J. Martin, ed., Fifth Air Force (Paducah, Ky.: Turner Publishing, 1994), 17, 23, 172, 173, 174; Nichols and Wiley, The Strafin' Saints, 322–46; Claire Phillips and Myron B. Goldsmith, Manila Espionage (Portland, Ore.: Binford and Morts, 1947), 26–155. See also The (La Grande) Observer, February 26, 2005, 3. Hill has also supplied prints to veterans and their families.
8. Fred Hill, "A Different Memoir of World War II," illustrated speech delivered to Union County Historical Society, La Grande, Oregon, November 9, 2002.
9. Using commercial 35 mm film sent by friends, family, and Martha, Hill also took over 700 color slides during his tour of duty. For his published color photographs, see Jeffrey Ethell et al., WW II Pacific War Eagles: China/Pacific bbbbrial Conflict in Original Color (Front Royal, Va.: Widewing Publications, 1997), 124–29, 133–36, 145, 157, 204; Mike Beno, ed., At Ease (Greendale, Wis.: Reiman Publications, 1996), 29, 146; Jeffrey Ethell, The Victory Era in Color (Greendale, Wis.: Reiman Publications, 1994), 130–33; Chuck Yeager and Clarence Anderson, There Once Was A War (New York: Penguin, 1995), 51, 126, 175, 211; Jeffrey L. Ethell and David C. Isby, G.I. Victory (Mechanicsburg, Penn.: Greenhill Books, 1995), 125, 127, 129, 130, 136, 140; Jeffrey L. Ethell, WW II War Eagles: Global Air War in Original Color (Hiawassee, Ga.: Widewing Publications, 1995), 185.
10. This and the following paragraph are based on thirty-eight letters Hill sent from Mindoro to Martha between January 7 and April 4, 1945.
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Women sell molasses at the Dagupan public market.
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