Humanoid
Gallery
Lou
Goldbrum: Jap POW
Story
by Gary
Greenberg
Photo
by Mike Price
Courtesy
of Boca
Raton Magazine
September 2001--Lou
Goldbrum was an Army Signal Corps photographer
in the Phillippines when war was declared on December 7, 1941. Within
weeks, the Brooklyn
native was reassigned and suddenly found himself the leader of a
guerilla
troop.
“We ambushed Japanese columns
trying to get to the
interior of the island, blew up bridges and sabotaged what we
could,” he says. “In 13
months, we only lost one man and had one injury. That was me. I was
shot in the
left knee and hit with shrapnel in the right arm.”
Despite his wounds, Goldbrum led nearly
two hundred
Filipinos on a series of successful missions on the island of Luzon.
But his luck ran out
after they killed a Japanese colonel who happened to be a member of the
royal family.
“The Japanese sent hundreds of
troops to find us,”
Goldbrum says. “So at that point I disbanded the unit and
sent them home.”
He hooked up with a couple other
displaced soldiers
and set off to join the American forces on the other side of the
island.
“On the third morning, I was
awakened by a bayonet
poking me,” he recalls. “We said our prayers
because it was well known that the Japanese
always killed guerillas on the spot. But their commander was
American-born
and ordered his men to treat us honorably.”
What followed was hardly honorable. On
July 24,
1943, four days after his twenty-second birthday, Goldbrum was put on a
ship with five hundred
other American prisoners and sent to Omuta, a brutally dehumanizing
slave
labor camp on the Japanese island of Kyusha.
“One moment you’re a
free human being, the next
you’re being told what to do and your very existence depends
on an enemy who doesn’t care
if you live or die,” Goldbrum says. “POWs fight in
two wars: one with guns and weapons
and the other against starvation, cold and
brutality.”
He worked fourteen hours a day in a coal
mine, even
after his left hand was crushed in a cave-in. At times, it was too much
to bear.
“When I heard planes overhead,
I used to pray they’d
drop a bomb on us just to end our misery,” he says.
“Hunger was one of the worst things.
You never saw anything alive at the camp. If it moved, we ate
it.”
Goldbrum endured for nearly two and a
half years,
until August 1945 when the A-bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, which lay
just across a bay.
“We didn’t see it
because we were underground,”
he says of the historic blast. “But the Japanese
all left. We broke into a warehouse
and found it stacked floor-to-ceiling with Red Cross packages. They
didn’t give it to us
because they didn’t want us eating better than their own
troops.”
Goldbrum was soon shipped home and spent
eighteen
months in hospitals recuperating from the physical and psychological
abuse. But even fifty-six
years later, the wounds remain.
“I still have
nightmares,” he says. “And I’ll carry
these thoughts to my grave.”
Although the scars of war would never
fully heal,
Goldbrum managed to marry, raise and support a family and retire in
paradisaical South
Florida. When he discovered that today’s youth knew little
about the World War II, he
founded the Former American Prisoners of War Speakers Bureau, a program
in which
ex-POWs talk to kids at schools, clubs and other
organizations.
Despite his ordeals, Goldbrum, 81, still
manages
to see a silver lining in his tarnished memories.
“My experience hardened me for
adversity, made me
religious and humble, and gave me a love of life,” he says.
“Also, I’m very complacent now.
Nothing bothers me. It comes from the Japanese prison guards goading
you into
taking a swing at them so they’d have a good excuse to beat
you. I learned to
just grit my teeth and take whatever punishment they dished
out.
“But I’m lucky.
I’m here, and a lot of my buddies
aren’t.”
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