Cesar Salang has one piece of advice: never waste a grain of rice. As a child, Cesar lived through the Japanese occupation of the Philippines, a time when food scraps were often one’s only meal. When he remembers that time, his thoughts always drift back to food, or the lack thereof.

“We did not have any work or source of income. We just depended on sugar­cane because, at that time, 70 percent of Luzon was planted with sugarcane,” said Cesar. “Some people are eating—morning up to evening—sugarcane and coconut. We don’t have the rice at the time.”

Born in 1936, Cesar was one of nine children and lived in Dinalupihan, a part of northern Bataan Province that borders Zambales and Pampanga. Ru­ral Dinalupihan was mostly sugarcane fields, which sustained the populace during the war years.

Before the war, Cesar’s father, Eu­sebio Salang, was a barber and farmer. After the occupation began, he found himself cutting hair for the Japanese. Occasionally, his fam­ily’s sugarcane and coconut diet was supplemented with gifts from Japanese officers, often a pig’s head and other parts of the animal they considered inedible.

“Can you eat the head of the pig without rice? Sometimes without salt, then you eat it without anything. Can you just imagine, do you think you can do that every time,” he asks.

During the Battle of Bataan, which was fought on the Bataan peninsula from early January 1942 until April 9, 1942, Dinalupihan was mostly by­passed, with the exception of the Battle of Layac Junction, which took place one kilometer away from the Salang home. The battle was intended to slow the Japanese advance and buy time for United States Armed Forces in the Far East (USAFFE), the Philippine- American force, to finish preparing the main line of battle further down the peninsula. After a day of fighting, USAFFE pulled back and the Japanese forces continued into the province.

With the fighting elsewhere, it seemed the war would pass Salang’s family. It literally passed by during the Bataan Death March. Layac Junction, the scene of fighting three months prior, became the 68th kilometer of the march.

After the surrender of U.S. forces on Bataan, most of the 70,000 Filipino & American prisoners were gathered at Mariveles on the southern tip of the Bataan penin­sula. They prepared to move to Camp O’Donnell, a makeshift prison camp 111 kilometers away. The Japanese didn’t want to waste trucks on the prisoners so they were forced to walk most of the way before being put in railroad cattle cars in San Fernando for transportation to the Camp. Most of the prisoners were sick and malnourished from months of fighting without resupply.

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Last surviving rail car used during the Bataan Death March. Survivors said the train portion was worst than the physical marching. 100 men were packed into such cars. Located at the Capas National Shrine.

Traveling in 100 de­gree weather, they had a difficult time on the march. The Japanese guards shot or bayoneted anyone who fell or attempted to escape. In some cases, prisoners, either alone or in groups, were pulled aside and executed as an example to the others. Of the 70,000 who started the march, only 54,000 would make it to Camp O’Donnell. Many were killed or died of exhaus­tion, but some never made it because of Filipino civilians like Eusebio Salang. During the march, almost anyone who attempted to aid the prisoners ran the risk of be­ing shot or bayoneted by the guards.

Despite this risk, Eusebio Salang was one of many Dinalupihan locals who chose to help the prisoners by hiding escapees in his home. The majority of the prisoners were Filipino and with a change of clothes could blend into the local populace. Americans rescued by Filipinos were quickly moved into the mountains to be hidden by guerillas. These Death March survivors became guerillas themselves and continued to fight the Japanese.

Two of Cesar’s relatives, Privates Angel and Fermin Salang would die on the march or at Camp O’Donnell. Their names are inscribed in the black marble of the Capas National Shrine, which sits on the former prison camp site. About half the Filipino prisoners who made it to O’Donnell would share their fate.

Angel and Fermin Salang’s names at the Capas National Shrine. The names of those who died during the Bataan Death March and in the camp are inscribed here.

After the battle and death march, every living thing on the Bataan pen­insula (with the exceptions of humans) was consumed by the armies, including snakes, monkeys, horses and carabao, an Asian water buffalo used for farm­ing and transportation. The Salang family had owned more than 40 carabao but now had none.

“…Everything that we can see, that we can eat… [became food],” he said.

Once the occupation began, the Salangs got new neighbors. The Impe­rial Japanese Army commandeered his aunt’s home and used it as the headquarters for the local garrison and a prison camp. Prisoners were tied to poles in front of the house and left outside for days or weeks at a time.

“I tell you it’s a terrible thing that happened at the time. They are cruel, you know. Some of the guerilla that had been caught, they tied to a post without anything. In the morning, some of them died right there on the post, you know, sitting or standing right there. The body would be put in a truck and other prisoners would bury it. If the captain is too crazy that morning, those people who dig the grave, they will also be included. They are going to shoot the guerilla [prison­ers] who dig [graves] for the dead. They are going to kill them. They are going to be buried right there in one place. I tell you, it’s a terrible thing.”

When asked about his wartime experi­ence, the first story Cesar tells is about how guerillas or suspected guerillas families were handled.

“If they caught one guerilla at a house on the mountain, they are going to get the baby and they are going to throw it right through the window. The Japanese or Korean soldier, they are going to catch the baby with their bayonet and swords. I have seen that personally. I was about eight years old or nine years old at the time.”

View from Cesar’s home in Dinalupihan, Bataan.

These actions hit close to home for Cesar and the Salang family because, unknown to the Japanese, their barber and trusted neighbor Eusebio, like one quarter-million other Filipinos, was also a guerilla. While under occupa­tion, Eusebio didn’t consider himself a ‘real’ guerilla, as the ‘real’ guerillas lived in the mountains. As he was close to the Japanese, he was able to provide the guerillas with information on anti-guerilla operations and acted as a runner.

“We were so afraid, because they might know that our father is a guerilla and kill us all,” he said.

The Salangs avoided detection throughout the occupation, doing what was required of them and acting normal. The Japanese required work from all men, regardless of age, so Cesar’s brothers Oscar and Diosdado played housekeeper to the garrison and cleaned the headquarters. Cesar did menial tasks at construction sites. He found if he endured a bit of ridicule from the soldiers, they would some­times give him rock-hard bread.

Cesar also learned Japanese in school. At 77 years of age, he can still count in Japanese and recite the required formalities for greeting Japa­nese soldiers. Forgetting those phrases would have resulted in a spanking or beating from the soldier. Except for what he had to know, Cesar didn’t take his Japanese studies seriously. He believed the occupation would end soon and that the Americans would come back as MacArthur promised.

His faith was rewarded on October 20, 1944, when American troops came ashore at Leyte, returning to the Philip­pines. For the Salangs, this marked the beginning of a dangerous new period as the Japanese became more cruel. Ce­sar’s family joined the guerillas in the mountains and hid for three months in order to avoid the Japanese. Some of his companions, who were not as lucky, were caught and killed.

In January 1945, American troops landed on Luzon and began bombing the former Clark Air Field and it’s out­lying strips. Their time hiding in the mountains was almost at an end.

“We can see the Japanese airplane and the tora-tora (American fighter planes). They bombed the airbase and we can see the smoke coming up. When we see that we are very, very happy,” he said.

As the Japanese troops went into hiding, the Salangs were still cautious. They lived in fear until American ground forces arrived in Bataan two weeks later, bringing liberation and, just as importantly, food.

“The Americans arrived and brought sardines, canned foods, the chili con carne…you know the chili con carne?”

With the arrival of the American army, the Salangs came out of hiding and Eusebio the barber-guerilla joined the the U.S. Army for the duration of the war.

“It’s good enough that MacArthur said, ‘I shall return’ because he really returned and performed what he had promised. We owe something to the United States but the States also have to owe something to veterans [Filipino guerrillas and soldiers] because they go together fighting against the Japanese and all the forces against the United States. Tell you, we are still lucky in liv­ing by now but those things that have happened we cannot remove it in our mind, especially me. I can see actu­ally those things that had happened,” Cesar said.

After the war, Eusebio went back to being a barber and a farmer, living peacefully with his wife Maria until his death in 1969.

Cesar grew up to become a mechani­cal engineer. He served as a pipefitter instructor at U.S. Navy Base Subic Bay for 16 years before it was closed. He later worked for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. He is now retired and lives with his wife, Florentina Sabulao Salang, who saw the landings at Leyte, in Dinalupihan.