Tears in the darkness

American and Filipino troops in April 1942 on the Bataan Death March, a 66-mile ordeal that remains a hallmark of brutality.

An authoritative history of the Bataan Death March that seamlessly blends a wide-angle view with the stories of individual American, Filipino and Japanese participants.

• Excerpt

The Bataan Death March has been written about before, and well, by a number of historians. Memoirs alone about Bataan fill a long, harrowing shelf. Their titles cry out in silent pain, bitterness and defiance: “My Hitch in Hell,” “No Uncle Sam,” “We Refused to Die.”

No aspect of this battle or the infamous march that followed seems to have been overlooked. It is possible to buy volumes devoted to Bataan’s nurses, its military chaplains and, in Hampton Sides’s best-selling 2001 book, “Ghost Soldiers,” the men who rescued its survivors.

“Tears in the Darkness” is authoritative history. Ten years in the making, it is based on hundreds of interviews with American, Filipino and Japanese combatants. But it is also a narrative achievement. The book seamlessly blends a wide-angle view with the stories of many individual participants. And at this book’s beating emotional heart is the tale of just one American soldier, a young cowboy and aspiring artist out of Montana named Ben Steele.

Tears in the darkness: The Story of the Bataan Death March and Its Aftermath. Michael Norman and Elizabeth M. Norman. Illustrated. 464 pages. Farrar, Straus & Giroux.



Two weeks after Pearl Harbor Japan invaded the Philippines. The poorly trained and untested American and Filipino forces were overmatched; they eventually retreated into the mountainous jungles of Bataan for a brutal last stand, one that the Normans, who are husband and wife, describe as “a modern Thermopylae.”

The authors are sympathetic toward Ned King, the surrendering American major general, who was beloved by his men. (General King made it clear to his soldiers that he had surrendered, not they.) Mr. and Ms. Norman reserve their scorn for the initial Allied general overseeing Bataan, Douglas MacArthur, whom they accuse of not leading from the field and later abandoning his men there.

MacArthur was always busy becoming a great man.

There are many Japanese voices in “Tears in the Darkness.” Mr. and Ms. Norman don’t excuse Japan’s actions, but place them in careful context. Japanese soldiers, they write, were the products of “a closed world of violence where men were subjected to the most brutal system of army discipline in the world.” These soldiers “had been savaged to produce an army of savage intent.”

What are the physics of suffocation? How does a bomb blast actually kill a person? What exactly does lack of water do to a human body? “Tears in the Darkness” is a grim and comprehensive catalog of man’s inhumanity to man.

In the end, though, “Tears in the Darkness” is a book about heroism and survival. All along you are glued, out of the corner of your eye, to one story, Ben Steele’s. If you aren’t weeping openly by the book’s final scenes, when he is at last able to call home and let his family know that he is still alive after more than three years “missing in action,” during which time this thin young man lost 50 pounds, then you have a hard crust of salt around your soul.

Why Soldiers Fight -- or Flee

Heroes and Cowards
By Dora L. Costa & Matthew E. Kahn
(Princeton University Press, 315 pages, $27.95)

Making of a Mogul

William Randolph Hearst is a mythical giant in American life. A newspaper mogul, a powerful man who was listened to, and whose newspapers were read, he was also the object of Citizen Kane, called by many the best American film of all time.

He was a newspaper owner and publisher. As with every form of the written word, editing is crucially important. In this review, in the first sentence of the second paragraph, this glaring gaffe jumps out: Ah, but there was a time – not so long ago in the grand scheme of things – when people not only read newspapers but waited with baited breath for the latest edition to hit the street.
Baited? To catch fish? Or bated, as in reduced, lowered, restrained? Indeed bated.

The Uncrowned King
By Kenneth Whyte Counterpoint, 546 pages, $30

In 1895, William Randolph Hearst (1863-1951) arrived in New York City from his family home in San Francisco to assume the position of owner and publisher of the New York Morning Journal, a name he immediately shortened to the New York Journal. Once Hearst was installed in his Park Row office, he soon leapt into national prominence; how he managed this breakthrough is the subject of Kenneth Whyte's "The Uncrowned King," an engaging chronicle of Hearst's first three years in New York.

In 1883, freshly expelled from Harvard, he convinced his father, Senator George Hearst (who filled a seat vacated by death for a few months in 1886, then won and served from 1887 until his death in 1890), to let him run the San Francisco Examiner. He ran that newspaper with hucksterism, and moved onto New York in 1895 to run one of 17 dailies then published.

Mr. Whyte offers a sympathetic account of Hearst, presenting him as someone far different from the megalomaniacal Citizen Kane-esque brute of legend. Mr. Whyte's Hearst is eccentric, to be sure, but he is also an earnest general in the vanguard of the paper wars and a virtuoso of the front-page salvo.

Whatever the case, in New York Hearst learned from Joseph Pulitzer (New York World) and Charles Dana (New York Sun): banner headlines, heart-tugging human-interest stories, tendentious crusading, scoops (facts be damned). Hearst gleaned everything he could from Pulitzer and Dana before he surpassed them.

"The Uncrowned King" centers on the two major news stories gripping the U.S. during Hearst's early years at the Journal: the 1896 presidential election, pitting the upstart Democrat William Jennings Bryan against William McKinley; and the Cuban theater of the Spanish-American War.

Ah, yes, yellow journalism. Election in 1896: Jennings Bryan versus McKinley; Spanish-American War.

Bryan lost the election, but Hearst gained tremendous credibility with the Journal's election reporting, Mr. Whyte says. He reports that The Fourth Estate ("A Newspaper for the Makers of Newspapers") praised the Journal for covering the race "in splendid style" and cited the 1.5 millions copies sold of the paper's election edition as evidence that readers trusted the Journal even though its candidate had lost.

Bryan railed about a "Cross of Gold" and gained much support from farmers and other borrowers, and was opposed by East Coast lenders (no one in the West loaned money?), and yet Hearst supported him (curiously to this observer).

Mr. Whyte devotes nearly half of "The Uncrowned King" to the Spanish-American War, specifically the dueling among the major dailies to secure news from Cuba. This was America's first post-Civil War fight as a united nation – or at least it was united behind the cause of Cuban independence after Hearst's relentless campaign to shame a reluctant President McKinley into war. Amid rising tensions between the two countries in 1898, an explosion sank the battleship Maine in the Havana harbor. The cause of the blast was murky, but Hearst seized on it as the ultimate war-worthy outrage. Mr. Whyte acknowledges that the paper practiced some "atrocious journalism" during this period, but he also brings to bear a refreshing sense of context.

Whyte exonerates Hearst: the paper's reporting suggesting that the ship had been sabotaged was based on credible sources, he says. The coverage was "nowhere near the acme of ruthless, truthless journalism."

Hearst wound up on the ground in Cuba as a correspondent. On his return he found himself at the pinnacle of the newspaper world – a successful publisher, acclaimed editor, even a writer of some repute. But he was also reviled in many quarters, particularly by other publishers. A scathing Lincoln Steffens article "became a foundation stone of a Hearst legend that would continue to grow in scale and perversity and culminate in the fine but scurrilous motion picture, Citizen Kane."

The myth exploded:

But then, typically and to his credit, Mr. Whyte tests the conventional wisdom by consulting the autobiography that Steffens wrote many years later. It turns out that Steffens regretted writing the piece because he had been pressured by his editors to take a hatchet to Hearst. Steffens confessed that he had "compromised" with his colleagues "to keep my job." Hearst was "a great man, able, self-dependent," the old reporter wrote. "He had no moral illusions; he saw straight as far as he saw, and he saw pretty far."


One of many New York Journal front pages devoted to news about the destruction of the battleship Maine in 1898. Top: William Randolph Hearst in the early 1900s.

New books

4 new books found on the new books cart at the Information Desk this morning:

MacArthur's Reputation

The Question of MacArthur's Reputation
By Robert H. Ferrell
(University of Missouri Press, 111 pages, $19.95)

In an attack that Douglas MacArthur bragged about, and for which he received a medal, an important breakthrough was made on the Hindenburg Line.

MacArthur's heroism on the Châtillon soon became part of his legend and, in the coming decades, figured prominently in his biography. Within weeks of the breakthrough he was bragging about it.

Yes, this is the army man who defied his Commander-in-Chief, President Truman, the very same army man who insisted a line of nuclear weapons be drawn across the Korean Peninsula in order to slow down the Communists. Turns out that Douglas MacArthur was a blowhard. It was not just the liberals thought so; it was the truth. Spin control managed to suppress the truth for decades, but not forever.

MacArthur never fought shy of the limelight – and history has forgiven him, not least because of his heroic leadership in World War II and the Korean War. Yet it is shocking to learn that he wasn't actually present on the Côte de Châtillon on Oct. 16 and that he didn't lead his men through the wire; he was back at a command post behind the lines.

Thus, his words that division commanders must instill 'the fighting spirit' into their commands by personal presence and example' were empty. He lied.

I have long wondered just how heroic this Army officer really was; he seemed very much an usurper, a blowhard, a manipulator. Long ago I read that the well-known (I refuse to call it famous) landing in the Philippines that fulfilled his I shall return pronouncement was staged: he had the photographer take the shot again, so that he would look appropriately heroic. The thesis of this book seems to agree with that judgement.

The attack was led by two exceptional officers: Maj. Lloyd D. Ross and Lt. Col. Walter E. Bare. They instilled the "fighting spirit" in the 167th and 168th Regiments, and they rallied the lines. It is they who deserve the credit that MacArthur claimed for himself.

And his reputation was based on stolen credit. What kind of honor is that?

This extraordinary falsehood is the impetus for Robert H. Ferrell's "The Question of MacArthur's Reputation." Having written widely before on the Meuse-Argonne campaign, Mr. Ferrell was bothered by the contradictions in the accounts of Châtillon. He delved into the archives and, in this rigorously researched and densely constructed historical essay, demolishes MacArthur's pretensions. It isn't just that the general stole credit. When his men failed to take the Châtillon on Oct. 14, he ordered them on a suicidal bayonet assault, at night, against fortified positions. The protests of Ross and Bare saw the order countermanded, which probably saved MacArthur's career.

Reckless, too, not just a liar.

Mr. Ferrell makes little attempt to explain MacArthur's actions. He notes that Gen. John Pershing, the leader of the American Expeditionary Force, badly needed a victory. His first two attacks in the Argonne had failed dismally and the third was failing when Strom and his men sprang open the Dame Marie. MacArthur's regiments then gave the AEF a taste of success. MacArthur was a dashing and convenient hero. As the commanding officer, though, he would have enjoyed a large part of the glory even without claiming to have led the assault itself. Legends are made on the battlefield, where facts are often hard to establish. Mr. Ferrell has established a big one – that, in this case, MacArthur lied. It is up to future biographers to sort out what such a fantasy means to a soldier's reputation.

And I wonder how often this victory of MacArthur's is included in biographies?