Agent High Pockets

Claire Philips, Myron B. Goldsmith

• Publisher: Barajima Books
• Year: 2020
• eBook ISBN: 9781839741876
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: European History
• Index: History

Agent High Pockets, first published in 1947 as Manila Espionage, is the fast-paced account of American Claire Phillips' experiences in Manila during the Japanese occupation in World War Two (the book is also the basis for the 1951 movie I Was an American Spy,). Prior to the war, Phillips had worked in Manila as part of a musical group. She had married, separated, and returned to the US, but came back to Manila just before the Japanese invasion. She fell in love with John Phillips, a soldier, and married him just after the war broke out; her husband became a prisoner of war, but sadly, was captured and died during his imprisonment. At the urging of American guerrilla leader John Boone, she began working for the resistance movement, opening a club for Japanese officers in order to win favors from the Japanese and to be able to send financial help and messages to the prisoners of war. The club also let her obtain intelligence from the Japanese clients, which she smuggled to the guerrillas who then forwarded the information to General Douglas MacArthur's headquarters. As a guerrilla agent, her code name was "High Pockets" as she typically kept messages in her bra. Eventually though, she was arrested and tortured by the Japanese and spent more than eight months in prison before her liberation by U.S. Forces in 1945. After the war, she and her daughter returned to the United States. In recognition for her courageous efforts in the Philippines, Claire Phillips was awarded the Medal of Freedom in 1951.

1. A Fool Rushes In

AS we docked at Pier Number Seven, I spotted my close friend Louise De Martini, waving excitedly, and calling my name.

September 20th, 1941 and journey’s end at Manila. Twenty six days voyaging across the frequently not-so-pacific Pacific on a slow Swedish freighter is not a picnic. Add to this the care of a small child, mal-de-mar, boredom and the inescapable smorgasbord. These are a few of the many reasons why I was happy to reach my destination.

In a manner, it was coming “home.” I might as well recite that closed bitter-sweet chapter of my past life briefly, and then slam the book shut with a decided bang.

Some years before I had played Manila with a touring American musical stock company, and only expected to remain there about six months. I met Mr. Wrong, married him, and deemed myself settled as a care-free, station-wagon driving housewife. We acquired a comfortable suburban home, a baby girl, servants, friends, and for a time all was well.

Next to death, marriage is probably one of the greatest of life’s adventures. Mine culminated in a misadventure and as the aftermath, I took my infant daughter, Dian, and returned home.

Call it restlessness, fate, wanderlust or the whirligig of chance, Bill Shakespeare said that “all the world’s a stage” and maybe I was not fond of sitting in the wings, so for some unexplainable reason the States soon lost their lure for me. Despite the dire warnings and vehement protests of my well meaning family, I packed my bags, took Dian in my arms, and walked up the gang-plank of the S. S. “Annie Johnson” at Wilmington.

Now I was back. As the motley assortment of gold miners and Filipino students, my erstwhile fellow passengers, courteously made way, Dian and I went ashore.

“Honey, I’m glad to see you,” Louise greeted, as we hugged and kissed, “But I think that you’re a crazy fool.”

“That’s a fine way to welcome a pal,” I returned, somewhat surprised, “Why am I so foolish?”

“Mr. Whiskers has been frantically urging all of the American women and children in the Islands to return home for the past six months, and here you come barging in.”

“Well, what of it”

Louise clapped her hand to her brow in mock horror.

“What of it, she says. Didn’t it occur to you that the navy escorted your tub into the Bay because it is mined? Take a look at the army and navy activity on the water front.”

“So what?”

“So there may be a war, and Manila will be a very unhealthy spot.”

“You mean the Japs?” I returned, undaunted, “That’s newspaper talk. They threaten and bluff, but I don’t think that they will ever fight us. They are not that crazy.”

“This world is chock full of crazy people,” said Louise with a gesture of finality as she led the way to her car.

We stowed ourselves and luggage in it, and drove off. The form of half-forgotten things now began to shape itself in my mind. As we sped through the streets of the ancient city, I became acutely aware of the depressing heat and the pungent ammonia-like odor resulting from the universal human and animal promiscuity. We narrowly averted numerous collisions with carromatas...those quaint little native vehicles drawn by diminutive flea-bitten nags.

“We’re having practice black-outs,” Louise remarked casually.

“That’s interesting. I hope they will have one soon.”

“Well, I don’t! I may be a pessimist, but don’t let me get you down. I am glad that you’ve returned.”

“Then I am not a fool?”

“Of course, you are,” Louise shot back, “But we’re birds of a feather. Plenty of people keep telling me that I should go home, but here I am.”

Louise had two rooms in readiness for us in her attractive bachelor-girl apartment. I liked them and told her so.

“Why not settle down here permanently,” she invited, “And be my family?”

“Oh yes,” I laughed, “We will stay here ‘permanently’ until I can get some singing jobs and a place of my own.”

I soon discovered that whenever three people assembled at Louise’s apartment, a party was under way. Sometimes it was only a quiet tea party. Then again, cocktails or champagne would appear as if by magic; more people would drop out of the blue, and ideas as well as corks would start popping. After some of these shindigs, Louise and I would chin far into the night, discussing mutual friends, both old and new.

One couple, both intrigued and worried us. “Mona” so dubbed because of her “Mona Lisa” smile, and her adoring “Wop,” Charley De Maio, Chief Petty Officer, U.S. Navy, he had good-naturedly “wopped” her right back, for both were of Italian ancestry. I liked him at once because of his infectious grin, his expressive Latin eyes and his impulsive, warm-hearted mannerisms. Charley was good-looking, stocky, and not too tall but tall enough for his petite, red-headed girl friend.

Mona was about twenty when I met her, very pretty and cute, with smooth olive skin, plus dimples that she could turn on and off like her charm. When she was crossed, her temper flared like her hair. Mona could not “possibly live” on the generous allowance that her father gave her, so she was constantly asking her friends to help her out of her financial difficulties “just until the end of the month.” Wop laughingly commented several times “I’m engaged to Mona all right, but I’m damned if I know if she’s engaged to me!” Louise said that it certainly did not look like it when Wop’s ship was out. I remember that De Maio told me “Just let me catch Mona two-timing me. I’ll put her right across my knee.” I hastened to let him know that the idea was a good one, adding, “It would be a better one to forget her. She will never be serious about anyone but herself.”

I enjoyed the gossip, the assorted pleasure-loving crowd and the good times we shared, but like all things mortal, this, too, came to an end when I lined up the kind of singing jobs that I wanted. This was not difficult as with few passable American singers around, competition was not too keen. My professional experience, plus my collection of new songs and gowns, fresh from the States, was also a helpful factor. Billed under my stage name of “Claire De La Taste,” I was soon singing for special parties; first at the Manila Hotel ballroom, and then at the ultra-modernistic Alcazar Club.

Ignoring Louise’s well-intentioned protests, I moved to the Dakota Apartments, an airy modern building in Ermeta, one of the most attractive residential sections of the city. My little menage was soon running smoothly with the aid of Lolita, a young Filipino nurse, plus Maria, an elderly native cook-housekeeper. Lolita was more than just a mere servant from the moment she entered my employ. I left Dian in her keeping on the nights I was working, knowing that the baby would be well cared for. Lolita could “live in” as her husband had recently joined the Philippine Constabulary and was constantly on maneuvers.

The romantic setting of the Alcazar Club, where I sang nostalgic torch songs under a soft cascade of shifting pastel lights, may have been responsible for what happened next. However, it was destined to be, and the result would have been the same if the locale had been a frozen tundra in the Arctic Circle.

No one could miss that soldier!

I saw him almost as soon as he arrived with a group of his friends...over six feet of erect, well-proportioned heman...brown hair with a wave in it...deep, heavily-lashed eyes under straight brows. The quiet type, I thought, watching his slow, graceful manner of dancing. I had never seen a more handsome man.

When I stepped up on the dais in front of the orchestra for an encore, I sang,...and I might as well confess it...to him. The soldier listened attentively as though he loved and understood music. My selection was a sentimental one that was sweeping the States when I left them:

“I don’t want to set the world on fire,

I just want to start a flame in your heart...”

Our eyes met, held, and lingered. The soldier looked at me in the manner that a woman longs to be gazed at earnestly...by the right man.

“In my heart I have but one desire

And that is you, no other but you...”

A faint smile creased his lips as I finished and took my bows. I saw him whisper to a mutual friend, and immediately they crossed the floor just coming alive with dancing couples. Then I met Sergeant John Phillips, radio man, Communications Section, Headquarters Company, Thirty First Infantry.

I cannot recall what I said to him. “Claire, keep your head,” I cautioned myself, “He is too wonderful. He will never notice you.”

“May I have this dance?” asked the sergeant, interrupting my day dreams.

He not only had that dance, but every succeeding one until I begged off from sheer fatigue. As the evening waned, he asked if he might see me home. The night was warm. The taxi driver took the long way (and did not hurry) as we rode along acacia and palm-bordered Dewey Boulevard, enjoying the sea breeze.

My escort did most of the talking. He told me about his former work; about his family in far-off California. “Mom’s terrific,” he rattled on, “You would love her.” He had been in the army for three years; one to go. “I’ve done all right,” he continued, “The army is okay, but an enlisted man can only get so far; then he’s stymied.” He chattered about the cattle ranches back in the mid-west where he had grown up. “I believe that’s the life, Claire” (It was ‘Claire’ and ‘Phil’ by this time) “What do you think?”

I couldn’t think because Phil was holding my hand.

“I don’t know,” I answered weakly.

I wondered if he would kiss me goodnight. He did, just once; then asked if he could call on me on the morrow. Thus romance was born, and Phil came to lunch the next day. Ours was a real case of true love at first sight.

Louise and Phil hit it off at once. Sometimes we would drop in at her apartment for one of her impromptu parties. If I had occasional shopping to do, Phil would suggest “Why not give Lolita the day off? I will take care of Dian.” He did, and I don’t know which one of them had the most fun.

In doleful retrospect, I know now that for a while we lived in a fool’s paradise...dancing, swimming, movies and horseback rides. Phil was free of all duties after one p.m. until reveille the next morning. So we shared portions of our fleeting, glorious days together, and evenings Phil took me to work; then waited to escort me home.

I experienced my first practice black-out, while singing at the Alcazar Club, about the middle of October. The sirens sounded their keening wail at nine, and the attendants bustled around drawing the heavy curtains. A deafening roar of planes over the city blended with the din from army trucks equipped with loud speakers, dashing through the streets and calling on offenders to dim their lights. The uproarious cacophony caused the musicians in the orchestra to waver, and then quit. Several officious air-raid wardens made a noisy entrance and strode importantly through the room. I gained the impression that they were mere anxious to exhibit their regalia and authority, than to inspect our security precautions.

The din subsided gradually. Within a few minutes, the music resounding merrily and the evening’s entertainment went on as usual. At ten, the “all-clear” sounded, and the curtains were pulled back to let the cool evening air flow in. At this time, this make-believe was a novel experience. Next day, the newspapers reported that all had gone well, and to expect another black-out the same day and hour of the next month.

Phil now talked continuously about our marriage. Sometimes he referred to it in the future tense as though we were back i...

Table of contents

• Title page
• TABLE OF CONTENTS
• FOREWORD
• DEDICATION
• 1. A Fool Rushes In
• 2. The Tumult and the Shooting Starts
• 3. Father Gonzales Ties a Midnight Knot
• 4. Of Bombs, A Birth, and a Broken Heart
• 5. Concerning A Mistress, Monkeys, And A Malicious Miser
• 6. Death Passes Me By
• 7. Corporal Boone Suggests a Plan Of Battle
• 8. The Death March Decides My Destiny
• 9. Dorothy Fuentes is Born
• 10. Club Tsubaki Opens Its Doors
• 11. Guerrillas Minus Guns
• 12. Under the Nipponese Heel
• 13. An Informer Goes To Hell
• 14. Yamada was a “White” Man
• 15. My Apologies to Sally
• 16. The Kenpei Take Me in Tow
• 17. An Unwilling Guest at Fort Santiago
• 18. The Sons of Heaven Torture and Try Me
• 19. Number 920 Awaits Her Doom
• 20. “Yes, I’m Real, Sister!”
• 21. We Turn Our Faces East
• PHOTOGRAPHS