1. .%«. au PeFao4IS
Year Twenty-Three Number Fifty-Two December 24, 1976
THE THREE LIVES OF DON BELL
EXPLANATION
As a reporter we have always believed that
the answer to the question "What is Truth?"
is vastly more important than "Who is Don
Bell?" Consequently, in our reporting, com-
menting and analyzing we have always tried
to avoid using anything more personal than
the editorial "we.!'
However, there are those new and prospec-
tive subscribers who almost inevitably ask
the question "Who is Don Bell?" There are
also many who, showing our letters to some-
one else, or quoting from them, are asked
the same question . If they are unable to
answer factually, credibility is questioned
and facts are discounted. Too, there is the
elemental fact that subscribers have a right
to know something of the qualifications and
the professional background of anyone they
are supporting and trusting in any patriotic
work of the nature of "Don Bell Reports ."
Therefore, due to numerous and continuing
requests, and to the insistence of the one
who is "bone of my bones and flesh of my
flesh" and who answers all of our personal
mail, this autobiographical sketch of Don
Bell is presented in lieu of a regular weekly
"Don Bell Reports."
In many instances we have had to rely on
memory, records having been lost when the
Japanese fire-bombed our former home in
Manila. Later, upon leaving Japan to cover
the Bikini atom bomb tests, all possessions
were lost in transit . This, then, is the story
of a journalist, not a life history, as we
remember it.
FIRST: THE PREPARATION
As a very young man with a very large aim
in life, we decided that the quickest way
to become a foreign correspondent was to
get into a foreign country and start corres-
ponding; with the right people, of course .
Furthermore, the easiest way for a penniless
youth to get into a foreign country in the
winter of 1926 was to join the U .S. Marines,
requesting overseas duty . This latter seemed
easy because there was trouble in both
Nicaragua and China, and Marines were sure
to be sent to both places . Fresh out of boot
camp, we were one of the large force sent
to China under General Smedley Butler, "to
protect the interests of Standard Oil and
Texaco," as the General said a few years
later. The situation was critical for a while
because Chiang Kai-shek had kicked the
Communists (Russians, Americans, and Chi-
nese) off his staff and his nationalist forces
were battling to unite all the provinces into
one great republic. Our job was to prevent
that battling from seeping into the inter-
national settlements of Shanghai and Tien-
tsin. In this we were fairly successful, and
after things had settled down and the occu-
pation had become routine, the Chaplain
wanted someone to publish a magazine . So
Walla Walla (meaning much talk) came into
being as the official organ of the Fourth
United States Marine Expeditionary Force,
headquartered in Shanghai, China . We were
selected as its editor, and our journalistic
career began where it had left off in high
school . (Oh, yes, we had also decided in
the winter of 1926 that on-the-spot self-edu-
cation was better for a budding foreign cor-
respondent than an on-the-campus college
education . Hence the Marine correspondence
school instead of a University) .
Having served our country for six years, we
were discharged in Shanghai to become an
executive with the Shanghai Evening Post &
Mercury, American-owned, English-language
daily which was later "liberated" by the
invading Japanese. Our "executive" duties
consisted of managing the printing plant,
acting as features editor, writing a daily
column, doing string reporting for the United
Press, other chores that gave us a well-
rounded education in fourth estate affairs,
and later when the company acquired a radio
station, we became its news editor and
commentator.
This all ended in 1937 when Japan invaded
China, driving Chiang Kai-shek' s govern-
ment back to Chungking, and forcing us to
flee China and accept a post with an Ameri-
can-owned, NBC-affiliated radio station .
There we became a full-fledged foreign cor-
respondent with NBC, and also became a
prisoner-of-war when the Japanese occupied
Manila in January, 1942 .
Shortly after our broadcast of the "Little
Pearl Harbor" bombing of Nichols Field,
we were commandeered by the Philippine
Government and by General MacAr thur's
headquarters to help maintain morale by
continuing to broadcast hourly until the

2. radio trahsmitters were destroyed to prevent
their falling into the hands of the enemy .
When our radio voice was thereby silenced,
Col . Hap Harries of G2 (intelligence) would
drive in, pick us up, take us to Corregidor,
where we would join General MacArthur's
staff. But Hap Harries never made it. A
bomb got him before he got to me, according
to his widow, Mary Harries, who wrote the
Saturday Evening Post War Anecdote which
is reproduced from the original and which
appears on the opposite page .
As for us, a Filipino friend slipped into the
prison camp to tell us about the beautiful
memorial broadcast he had heard over KGEI,
a short-wave radio station broadcasting from
San Francisco . It seems that Don Bell was
captured, tortured because he wouldn't give
information to the enemy, paraded through
the streets and then executed ; the first war
correspondent to die in World War II .
SECOND : THE OCCUPATION .
But an error had been made . Someone else
had been mistaken for Don Bell-we never
learned who-and had died in our stead. The
incident probably saved us, because the
Kempei Tai (Japanese military police) quit
looking for us, and we spent a miserable
three years, one month and one day in Santo
Tomas, Japanese Prisoner of War Camp
Number One, Manila, the Philippines.
At Christmas, 1954, we published a letter
which we titled "The Last Christmas ." It
dealt with the last Christmas spent at Santo
Tomas. We reprint a part of that letter:
. . + • . . . r + r • s a
Colonel Hayashi knew it was too be our last
Christmas. He had received precise and com-
plete instructions regarding the time, place
and method of our mass execution . He may
have felt that since time was running out for
us, he could be indulgent . He approved our
plans and gave permission for a Christian
observance of the birth of our Lord and
Saviour. . . .
We had an electric organ . We built a stage
to accomodate an 80-voice chorus . A Span-
ish priest smuggled in enough instruments
to outfit a 30-piece orchestra . All inmates
contributed as they could . . . .
We planned our program carefully :
Previously we had discovered a splendid
male quartet through talent searches to pro-
vide occasional entertainment which had
made endurable the long evenings of prison
boredom. We had almost lost the quartet to
the torture chamber because of a previous
performance that the Japanese called in-
sulting to them (it was meant to be) . And
the first tenor died of starvation during final
rehearsals for our Last Christmas on Earth .
A quick shift in plans and the remaining
three-a French Catholic, a Russian -Ortho-
dox, and a Baptist preacher-performed glor-
iously as the Three Kings of Orient . The
voices were weak with the enduring pain of
enduring hunger . But we had microphones .
And their costumes were of sackcloth . But
we still had imagination - - -
The finale of the evening performance was
an abbreviated version of Handel's Messiah,
closing with the immortal Hallelujah Chorus .
Came time for the finale :
Some of our prisoner audience had benches
or chairs; others sat on the ground . None
had the strength to stand throughout the per-
formance . I'm sure many in the audience had
gone into that coma-like substitute for sleep
which invests a body infested with the
ravaging beri-beri, to benumb the pain of the
sting of death .
But - as the first glorious tones of that in-
spired chorus were heard, something began
to happen. The people began rising . Four
thousand prisoners of twelve nationalities
and fourteen religions began to rise as one .
They stood erect, looking straight 'ahead ;
not at the stage or the people on it, but
beyond the stage . They were looking beyond
the pain and suffering brought them by three
years of prison life ; seeing a vision of the
life that should have been on the birthday of
the King of Kings and Prince of Peace . We
were of fourteen religions, yes . But the bias
and the bigotry, dogma and diversion was
gone. We were as one, unified in the only
kind of one-world that a just God can ever
condone or bless - one in spirit with our
Father, observing with praise and thankful-
ness the birth of His Son - - -
The miracle of the moments endured after
the music had ended, finally to be punctured
by the harsh-pitched screechings of the
Japanese guards, ordering us back to the
rooms of confinement.
That's when reality struck us : from heaven
to hell in the time it takes to hear and com-
prehend one shrill voice of command . It had
been a most wonderful experience - but for
what purpose? We were being ordered back
to the little wooden bunks, hungry, tired,
without hope of an earthly tomorrow . (Look-
ing back on years of remembering, it seems
that was the worst night of all - - )
Then, just before dawn the bombers came .
We couldn't see them clearly in the first
light-flakings of a tropical dawn, but we had
learned to distinguish the big. beautiful,
silvered B-l7s by their sound. And we won-
dered which of the enemy camps would be
obliterated this Christmas morning .
But we heard no sounds of exploding bombs
as the planes droned away. We learned why
a few minutes later .

3. The Japanese had tried to pick them all up
and destroy them ; but there were too many
of them. Our American airmen had bombed
the island with Christmas Cards!
I had one of the cards, one of my most
treasured possessions . It was lost with
other "memories" when I was shot down
and reported killed (the second time) off the
China coast three months later . But I can
remember the cover : the delicately drawn
scene of the Nativity . And inside (as best
I can remember after all
the years) were these
words :
"The Commanding Offi-
cer, Officers and Men of
the Army of Liberation
extend the Sentiments of
the Season and the prom-
ise of the realization of
your fondest hopes in the
coming New Year ."
That promise was kept.
For General of the Army
Douglas Arthur MacArthur
walked into Santo Tomas
Prison Camp just forty-
three days later, to greet
those of us still alive ."
(unquote)
We were so emaciated we
felt sure he wouldn't re-
cognize us as we walked
forward to speak to him,
so we said, "General,
I am Don Bell ." And he
said, "Hello, Lazarus,
I am happy to see you
have returned from the
dead."
Returning to work was a
different matter . . NBC,
thinking us dead, had
written us off.' But Mu-
ual Broadcasting System
offered us an immediate
place as their corres-
pondent with MacArthur's
headquarters, in spite of
my physical condition at
that time . I accepted and
after some hair-raising
experiences in Luzon,
Borneo and a few other
islands, we talked the
Commanding Officer of
the Navy's air fleet, to
let us go as thirteenth
man on a patrol bomber
mission along the China
coast.
And so it happened that
Right Past the Japs' Ears
:t
I' fl
T
W A It
As I listened to Don Bell,
the radio commentators who
described the Bikini atom-bomb
tests, it reminded me of the hoax
he played on the Japs toward the
end of our three long years in the
Japanese prison camp at Santo
Tomas, Manila .
The Japs let us have a public-
address system in the prison, to
broadcast occasional scraps of
vague, highly censored news they
fed. us from the outside world and
to notify us about daily work as-
signments. In broadcasting the so-
called news, Bell was a great morale .
builder; knowing how starved we
were for information about the .
791, he often took chances on slip-
ping through important facts by
resort to clever double-talk .
The time came when persistent
rumors were being whispered
through the prison that MacArthur
had landed on Leyte-a dramatic
moment for the 4000 starving pris-
oners who had been waiting so
long for the Americans to come
yet dulled by the memory of many
rumors which had proved false .
Our starvation ration of five
ounces of food a day had just. beer
On March 22, 1945, the PB4Y2 in which we
were flying, disguised as a radar technician,
ran into real trouble .
Japan was dependent on oil supplies that
had to be shipped by tankers via the South
China Sea . Our job was to prevent any tan-
kers or Japanese merchant ships from get-
ting to Japan . Spotting a nest of ships off
the coast near Amoy, we went down to iden-
tify them, were hit by unexpected anti-air-
craft fire off Quemoy, and we kept right on
one of
A N I•; C I) u
reduced again because the Japs in-
sisted they could get no rice for us.
Each evening Bell was allowed to
broadcast that rice had again fa»Pi
to arrive that day, so that the few
families who had a little saved up
could budget out a bit of it for
their children and grimly go on
hoarding the rest.
Finally, as the starving con-
tinued and the Leyte rumors per-
sisted, Bell stepped to his micro-
phone one evening and, following
the routine work-detail broadcast .
began the announcement I'll never
forget. "And now I have some
grand news for you," he said. "To-
day the rice ration arrived ."
No doubt the Japanese thought
that the roar of applause which
rolled through the camp when he
had finished what he had to say
signified our delight at the arrival
of the food. Well, that did please
us. But what really made us cut
loose was the wonderful news he
finessed through in his 'closing
remark. "This has come a
little late," he said . "It has been
a long time. But . . . better
Leyte than never! "
-MARY M . RARRLLS.
Reproduced courtesy Saturday 19vening Post

4. diving, right into the China Sea. So, the ship
was lost, the crew was listed as missing in
action, presumed dead, and, technically,
Don Bell was a member of the crew . Thus
ended his second life-according to the
record, that is.
THIRD : THE DEDICATION
Actually, seven of us survived the crash and
through a series of miracles we got ashore
and started walking toward Chungking, some
800 to 1,000 miles away as an airplane
would fly. However, a mysterious Chinese
gentleman we only knew as Mr . Lu, guided
us to an escape base deep in the mountains,
from which we were airlifted to Chungking .
Because of wartime regulations, we could
not return to General MacArthur's command,
because we had escaped through enemy
territory and had to go to the United States,
via Europe, for reassignment .
And here began a series of shocks . We had
been out of the United States for nineteen
years. We left when Calvin Coolidge was
President and the country could still be
called a Republic ; we returned shortly after
the death of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and
the country had become a Democracy . The
Nation we had loved, and served, was so
changed that we hardly recognized it . When
we applied for a new passport, we were
arrested as a draft dodger . When we made a
guest appearance on CBS's Report to the
Nation, we couldn't get paid because we had
no social security number . When we were
sent to San Francisco to cover the organiza-
tional meetings of the United Nations we
found Alger Hiss directing traffic and the
Council on Foreign Relations running the
show in collaboration with V.M. Molotov and
the Soviet delegation .
We were shocked, but we held our peace at
the time. There was a war to finish and then,
having settled permanently in the United
States, we would study, and' speak out a-
gainst the forces that were destroying our
country .
We rejoined MacArthur's command, went with
him to Japan, left to cover the Bikini atom
bomb tests in 1946, then back home to the
United States at long last, for radio network
assignments in New York City and Washing-
ton, D.C . But we couldn't speak out against
the nation's enemies when they owned .the
microphones. So we began a period of in-
dependent broadcasting, settled for a while
in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where we began to pub-
lish this newsletter, which is about to begin
its 24th year of uninterrupted weekly appear-
anees .
In February, 1954, we moved to the Palm
Beach area where we joined the late Upton
Close and George Deatherage in publishing
both Closer-Up and Don Bell Reports . With
the death of Upton Close, and then George
Deatherage, we faced an impossible problem
in continuing the publications ; except that-
and now we quote from a letter we wrote and
published on August 30, 1974 :
"Almost immediately after our arrival in
Florida, Upton introduced us to a 'patriotic
lady' who was interested in our work . We
had never set eyes on each other before. But
upon being introduced, this 'patriotic lady'
excused herself, began rummaging through a
pile of old magazines and scrap books, and
suddenly held up a copy of Life Magazine of
April 13, 1942. In it was the illustrated story
of the fall of Manila to the Japanese, and
there was an action photo of Don Bell before
a microphone interviewing Gen . MacArthur.
Under the picture was the caption : 'Murdered
by Japs, according to Manila reports, was
radio commentator Don Bell, long anti-Jap-
anese. Supposedly he had been tortured with
fire and bayonet.'
She was attracted to the man in the picture,
'just knew' that the story of his . death was
untrue, and held onto the illustration in the
hope of matching it up with the original
sometime in the future . And, as predestined,
and as you've already guessed, this 'pat-
riotic lady' seen became Mrs . Don (Ginny)
Bell . And she was willing to become perfect
partner (in the publishing business) as well
as wife and helpmeet . So . . . a 'family cor-
poration' was established . We made it a
family affair and decided to continue the
publication of both Closer-Up and Don Bell
Reports," (unquote) .
Temporary but serious illness forced us to
retire Closer-Up so more time and effort
could be concentrated on Don Bell Reports .
Throughout the years the publishing of Don
Bell Reports has been a work of dedication,
a "calling" for which we believe we have
been prepared by years of sometimes bitter
experience. It has become a "family affair,"
and so long as Don and Ginny can remain
free agents (and "Where the Spirit of the
Lord is there is liberty") ,and so long as we
remain in reasonably good health, we shall
continue to publish this newsletter, God
willing. He has blessed this work through
the years, kept us as truthful and factual as
mere mortal may be as a reporter of human
events.
In this season of joyful tidings, we pray that
the Lord will continue to bless all of our
friends, supporters and readers, and that we
may. be of assistance in interpreting the
signs of these troublous times .
-----------------------------
DON BELL REPORTS, P.O. Box 2223
Palm Beach, Florida 33480