People ask how many books I’ve published. “Eleven,” I say.

“Whew,” they respond “What a grind. What keeps you going?”

Well, there are a number of things I enjoy about what I do. But there is one that was unexpected and completely overwhelming. I still think of it a lot these days.

It was when I was working up my second novel, The Last Lieutenant. This one was loosely based on a true story of a young naval officer’s escape from Caballo Island, at the mouth of Manila Bay in the Philippines, in April 1942.

The young naval officer was John Morrill, a Naval Academy graduate who commanded a minesweeper at the time. But his ship, the Quail, had run out of fuel and there was none to be had. Plus a Japanese air attack sunk the Quail and Morrill and his crew found themselves stuck on Caballo Island, right next to Corregidor. And then the Japanese took Caballo and Corregidor in a night amphibious assault. Morrill wanted nothing of what would become a dim future of privation and even death. It was common knowledge that the enemy tortured and killed American and Philippine POWs all the time.

So Morrill and seventeen of his crew off Quail, commandeered a ’51-foot diesel powered launch, stocked it with as many provisions as it could hold, and set out that night for Australia, a voyage of 1,900 miles.
Morrill’s plan was to sail under the cover of darkness and put into shore and cover up during daylight. They pretty much stuck to this plan except their physical condition upon leaving Corregidor was horrible. There was not much food, just canned salmon. The water was tainted and there were hardly any medical supplies, let alone no doctors and nurses.

So, just a few days later they landed on an island in the archipelago looking like human detritus, unshaven and ribs protruding with great weight loss. The island was Marinduque, as I remember, and Morrill and his men encountered the Amador family (I don’t recall the actual name so will simply use this name). It was a plantation and they were wonderful to Morrill and his crew. Within a few days, they slept soundly, ate well, and even gained a few pounds. Their clothes looking like rags, were washed and mended and almost like new.

And then one night, Mr. Amador came to Morrill with bad news. The Japanese had landed just a few kilos away and were establishing a garrison. It was time to move on. So they were provisioned and headed through he Surigao Straight, and then due south through the rest of the Philippine archipelago to freedom in Darwin, Australia.

While writing the novel, I was speaking with Morrill from time to time about this and that, just to make sure I had things right.

“What happened to the Amadors?” I asked.

He said, “I don’t’ know, I went back to the plantation after the war to thank them but the houses were all burned to the ground. Neighbors said they thought the Japanese had killed them.”

Sad. That was in 1947.

Now, let us move forward to 1995 when the book was first published by St. Martin’s Press. I received a call in my office. The caller explained, “Hello Mr. Gobbell. My name is Fito Amador. Me and my family lived on Marinduque until the Japs threw us out and burned our plantation. I didn’t realize Commander Morrill was still alive. I thought he was dead.”

At this point I was amazed and flabbergasted. I replied, “Wow. Commander Morrill returned after the war and was told you had been killed by the Japanese.”

“No, no. Not all. We went up into the mountains with the resistance until they surrendered. We eventually moved here to Anaheim in the U.S. and are now citizens. How is he?”

“Amazing”, I said. ‘Yes, he is doing fine. Would you like to speak with him?”

“Yes, please.”

So, I gave him John Morrill’s phone number in Virginia and the two spoke for the first time in fifty-three years each thinking the other was dead.

I get goose bumps even now when I think of that story. John Morrill is gone now, lost with so many of the finest generation. Fito Amador and his family definitely are part of the finest generation. I pray the good Lord has been kind to them as well. They deserve it.