This year, as De La Salle University marks the centennial celebration of the arrival of the Christian Brothers in the Philippines in June 1911, it is fitting to honor the Brothers who were so mercilessly killed during the battle for the liberation of Manila.
May the heroic Band of Brothers rest in peace in the embrace of the Lord.
Early on Sunday, Dec. 8, 1941, the feast of the Immaculate Conception, the patroness of Ateneo de Manila, a military Mass was being held at the spanking new Ateneo auditorium on Padre Faura Street in Ermita, Manila.
The blare of trumpets and the beat of drums were heard at the moment of the consecration.
At the end of the Mass, the Jesuit fathers calmly announced that Japan had delivered a devastating attack on the US Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. “War, we are at war! Go home to your families immediately!” they told the students, adding that classes were indefinitely suspended because of enemy air raids.
ROTC cadets were told to return to the school in uniform and report to their units to guard the Manila Observatory on the Ateneo grounds. The centuries-old observatory was reputed to be one of Asia’s biggest and oldest facilities for weather forecasting.
One of the ROTC cadets on guard duty was my older brother, Emil Avanceña.
Ateneo closed
By Jan. 2, 1942, the Japanese Imperial Army had triumphantly occupied Manila, which was declared an “open city” by General Douglas MacArthur.
Our family had then joined our cousins, the Lacsons, on Carolina Street near Malate Church and Malate Catholic School. Our cousins were all students of De La Salle College (DLSC), which was run by the mostly German Christian Brothers.
In two weeks, as things seemed to settle down, we returned to our own home on Calle Dominga off Vito Cruz Street near St. Scholastica’s College on Pennsylvania Street and La Salle on Taft Avenue.
Ateneo was closed and taken over by the Imperial Army as it was considered American and, therefore, enemy property. The American Jesuits were sent to a concentration camp in Los Baños, Laguna, while the Filipino Jesuits were allowed the use of a wing of the building.
The Japanese also allowed the students’ chapel on the ground floor to be used by the public. As members of the St. John Berchmans Sanctuary Society, we were allowed to serve at Benediction every afternoon.
There were Japanese sentries at the Padre Faura main gate and we had to bow deeply to those standing guard with fixed bayonets.
Then came the news that the Japanese Military Administration would allow some schools to reopen, including La Salle but not Ateneo.
We lived near La Salle so the news made me happy.
At La Salle
The school was not strange to me as my two older brothers, Jesus and Martin, had studied commerce there under the famous Brother Anthony immediately after graduating from high school at Ateneo.
La Salle was reputed to offer the best commerce course at the time. Jess became captain of the DLSC Junior Basketball team, and Martin, a member of the DLSC Senior Varsity team.
Moving out
Bad news came suddenly one day: The Imperial Army will now occupy a big portion of the DLSC building.
The Brothers were given 24 hours to move out. But a wing was left to them—the wing alongside the Nippon Club on the south side facing Vito Cruz, which had the chapel on the second floor.
Hundreds of student volunteers arrived as we were moving to St. Scholastica’s College, where the kind Benedictine Sisters gave DLSC a wing.
We were happy to move to a girls’ school. The first day at St. Scholastica’s, Brother Hubert, our highly organized German principal, assigned us to our classrooms.
The main entrance to the building was through St. Cecilia’s Hall. It was here that the Brothers conducted air raid drills and assigned us our places by class in case of an air raid.
Girls in bloomers
There was a big quadrangle at the back. To our amusement, we found that the Sisters had constructed a tall wall separating La Salle from St. Scholastica’s, tall enough to prevent us from peeking over the top.
Every morning the first order of the day was mass calisthenics, called “Radio Taishio.” The drill was carried out in Japanese to the beat of a drum.
The upper windows on our side became popular every morning, when the girls performed their daily calisthenics in blue bloomers.
Our classes proceeded with typical German discipline and regularity. But a sense of “normalcy” eluded us, as the Imperial Army constantly reminded us of its presence.
We learned to bow from the waist and greet the sentry at the gate every morning with a cheery “Ohayo gozaimasu!”
Our Nippongo teacher, Mr. Cebrero, whose brother was a Jesuit at Ateneo, made sure we knew what to do and say. Some of the more daring students, however, came up with the taunting greeting “O hayop gozaimasu!”
In time the sentries caught on to what they were saying, and some students endured resounding slaps in the face. This ended the “joke” completely.
Brothers in white socks
The Brothers were kind to us Ateneans and treated us as well as they did their La Salle students.
On Sundays we would hear Mass at the chapel, with the Brothers occupying the last pews at the back.
During communion, they were the first to file out into the center aisle in their black robes and white collars, with both hands clasped on their chests like angels, walking in measured cadence to the communion rail.
One observation struck me: They all wore white cotton socks.
The La Salle boys had nicknames for some of our teachers. One I clearly remember to this day was big, tall, red-haired and stern-looking Brother William, who was secretly “Gestapo.”
We Ateneans did not dare give nicknames to the Brothers.
In spite of the blue invasion, the La Salle boys exhibited no animosity or hard feelings toward us. The competition was only in sports and, during the war, the so-called “fierce” rivalry between Ateneo and La Salle was forgotten for the time being.
Great guys
I remember some of my La Sallian classmates: Tito Clemente, Ramoncito Campos, Benny Toda, Danny Vasquez, Vicente Arias, Pons, Bernard, Heinz Brauer, Hans Gersel, the gentle Gilbert Kahn (who was reported to have been bayoneted to death on Singalong Street), Toti del Rosario, Pedro Picornell, and Johnny Estrada Jr., among others.
They were all pure-bred, green-blooded La Sallians and great guys by any standard.
I had joined the De La Salle Choir under the gentle Brother Berthwin, our choir master.
It was a very sad day when our classmate Pandito Jugo died after a lingering illness. He was a son of Justice Jugo and they lived on our street on Dominga.
There was a funeral Mass at the chapel with our chaplain, the Australian Rev. Fr. Francis J. Cosgrave, CSSR, officiating.
We stood at the choir loft, tears streaming down our cheeks, as Brother Berthwin led us into the hymn “Nearer My God to Thee.” And Pandito’s casket was rolled down the center aisle to a waiting funeral coach.
Dogfights
Sept. 21, 1944, was Japanese Imperial Navy day. The newspapers had announced that Japanese naval aircraft were putting on a show in the sky.
It was about 9:30 a.m. when a thunderous roar rolled in from the east as dark forms hurtled through the air at treetop level. Ramoncito Campos jumped up from his seat and ran to the window, shouting, “P-40s! P-40s!”
They came in swarms with their backs to the sun. When they reached the bay, they leapt into the sky like blackbirds and went after their targets.
The dogfights were on! The first air raid over Manila signaled the start of the liberation of Luzon.
The school bell began clanging the air raid signal, and the Brothers calmly led class after class to designated shelter positions. I was seated on the floor near Brother Arkadius, who was holding his rosary.
There were two “casualties” of the air raid that morning—the roof, which had a small hole in the eaves, and Benny Toda’s bicycle (wayward bullets twisted the spokes of one wheel, rendering it utterly useless).
Brotherly love
The Brothers decided to escort each boy home. (It was this demonstration of genuine Christian love in the midst of great peril that inspired the writing of this article.)
We were formed into groups with each group made up of residents of a specific district. I was with the Pasay group of about 50 students, led by a Brother whose name I now cannot recall.
The group walked up Dominga, Burgos, Libertad and Taft Avenue. We broke off one by one as we neared our respective homes. Other Brothers walked their boys down Singalong to Paco and Sta. Ana. Another group was led by a Brother downtown to Quiapo and Sta. Cruz.
I don’t know exactly how many groups there were, but some Brothers returned to La Salle almost midnight, walking all the way back.
Killing rampage
At noon on Feb. 12, 1945, while everyone was eating lunch downstairs near the ground-floor wine cellar or sitting on the stairs resting, about 20 soldiers led by a Japanese officer showed up.
They accused the Brothers of hiding guerillas and went on a killing rampage.
Brother Leo was the first to be killed by bayonet. Brother Berthwin was shot, Brother Friedbert was slashed with a sword.
Brother Romuald, our English teacher, and Brother Gerfried, our science teacher, were both bayoneted.
Brother Arkadius was also bayoneted and suffered a severe open head wound; he died two days later.
Brother Maximin, who spoke Japanese and was the Brothers’ liaison with the Japanese, ran to the second floor where the chapel is located to warn everyone.
Running up the stairs, Brother Baptist shielded a small boy, Jose Carlos Jr., with his body. The boy was saved but Brother Baptist was killed by bayonet.
Brother Lucian tried to defend himself near the chapel entrance but was cut up badly with a sword.
Blood flowing downstairs
Brother Antonius, the lone survivor, was stabbed once in the chest and twice in the stomach. Brother Maximin was next to be bayoneted; he died near the communion rail.
Brothers Victor and William were killed in the chapel, along with Brothers Lucian, Adolph and Lambert.
Brother Hubert, our high school principal, tried to put out the fire started by the soldiers. He was discovered when the soldiers came back and was bayoneted to death.
The bodies were strewn over the pews. The blood of the victims covered the chapel floor and flowed all the way down the stairs to the ground floor.
Brother Egbert Xavier, our school director, was picked up earlier by Japanese soldiers together with Judge Jose Carlos.
They were led with their hands tied behind their backs to the Nippon Club next door and were never seen alive again. It was believed that the two bodies observed hanging in the club were theirs.
Staying alive
Civilians who sought shelter at La Salle were also killed.
Among the survivors was Sevillano “Billy” Aquino, an elder brother of Ninoy Aquino. Billy’s 19-year-old wife, Trinidad Cojuangco, was shot in the back, and her brother, Tony Cojuangco, my Ateneo classmate, was dragged from his sickbed and bayoneted to death.
Billy was bayoneted several times. The handle of the bayonet got caught in his chest clavicle and the soldier had to step on his chest with one foot to dislodge the bayonet.
The last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was the indescribable pain.
Billy also told me that, despite three stab wounds, Father Cosgrave managed to drag the survivors behind the main altar and kept them alive for several days by making them drink the water from the flower vases on the altar.
The courageous chaplain also walked among the dead to administer absolution and a final blessing.
A total of 41 people, including the 16 Brothers, were killed that fateful day. Only 27 survived.