| Excerpt from Chapter 9: Camp O'Donnell |
We struggled up a hill our last mile and looked over the hill to a strange and depressing sight. O'Donnell, where we were to be housed, was an unfinished and abandoned Filipino army camp. The buildings were little more than skeletons, some of them with no roofs. It was April 15, 1942.
It was even worse up close. We were forced in, pushed in as before, crowded as in the boxcars. There was no effort at organization. We milled about, trying to find a place to lie down and rest, somewhere in the shade, out of the way, where we'd not be stepped on. I found a spot out in the grass against an old mess hall, settled in and then discovered my canteen was empty. I knew I'd better find water now. I didn't want to go into the night without water, as we never knew from one hour to the next what was before us.
I asked someone where I could find water and was told to go over a hill, a few hundred yards away, to an open area. I did, only to find a long line of men waiting to get water from one little tap! I joined the end of the line. It moved slowly, but that didn't matter. I figured I had nothing better to do with whatever time I might have left. I had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do.
While I was in this line waiting for water, I looked back to see a familiar face. A young man was squatting there, much as the Filipinos do, quietly resting as he waited for the line to move forward. I stepped back and spoke to him.
"Say, I know you. Do you remember me?"
He peered up at me and said, "Nope. Don't reckon I do."
"Did you go to Paris High School?"
His interest quickened and he glanced up sharply at me. "Yeah. Yeah."
"And you don't remember me? Doesn't your grandmother live at a little place called Pinhook? (This man's uncle, William A. Owens, was to later write a book that would make Pinhook famous, This Stubborn Soil.)
The man smiled, "Sure does."
"Well, we rode the same school bus when you would go out on the weekend to visit your grandmother."
He struggled to bring his long frame to a standing position and peered at me closely. Then his face broke into a wide grin. "By golly! Red Allen."
John 'Peapicker' Owens and I had a good visit as we moved up the line. Then we eventually got our water and went our separate ways. I never saw him again until...but that's another story.
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